


Spare Parts

by Forlorn_Melody



Series: Rags To Ragged--The Times and Tribulations of Jane Shepard [6]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Citadel DLC, F/F, Slow Burn, Toxic Relationship, Tragic Romance, complicated relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:14:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 29,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13144521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forlorn_Melody/pseuds/Forlorn_Melody
Summary: Cerberus wants Shepard's clone dead. Hope Lillium wants the clone to replace Shepard. The reapers want to exterminate her along with the rest of the galaxy. No one asks what the clone wants--and even she isn't sure if she has the right to ask. But she asks that question every day.





	1. Delivery

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of prequel to Double The Trouble, as I seek to flesh out Jane Doe's back story. The Mass Effect comics will be referenced here and there, but they won't be necessary to understand the plot. The rating may also change as the story progresses.

For two years, Rasa waited. Fitting--Shepard herself waited two years to come back from the void. It only makes sense that her _replacement_ do the same. Several times Rasa, then going by the name Hope Lillium, had considered destroying the clone. Transporting the pod proved difficult, if not dangerous. Several times she risked waking it at an inopportune time. Even then, Rasa couldn’t be sure if the clone would wake up at all. Operative Miranda Lawson hadn’t cloned Shepard for anything but spare parts.

And yet…

Why bother cloning Shepard’s brain if it would not work in similar fashion? Rasa knew Miranda—she wouldn’t do anything half-assed. Every detail of Shepard’s clone would be as close to the original as possible. Anything else would be a liability to Cerberus, and the rest of the galaxy.

Part of Rasa hoped Shepard would prove her wrong—that she would abandon her alien ass-kissing and start fighting for her own. She followed Shepard’s exploits against the Collectors, watched through Cerberus’s own security systems as she survived yet another suicide mission, with her entire team intact. Of course, the saint had to destroy the technology rather than hand it to Cerberus (for all the good _that did_.)

And then Hackett called Shepard for a favor, and Shepard destroyed an entire Batarian system. For one brief moment, Rasa had hope that something in Shepard had changed. Perhaps after taking down the Collector Base, she had finally come to her senses about the Council—about how each race only looked out for itself—about how humanity had to take care of its own.

And then Shepard turned herself in.

The Reapers wouldn’t wait for the Alliance to declare her innocence. Humanity needed a _better_ hero. Rasa would provide that hero.

If only she could figure out how.

Rasa stood in front of a virtual interface, a much less expensive and more rudimentary one than the Illusive Man favored, but it suited her needs well enough. She had dossiers on all of Shepard’s known associates scattered across the interface, and she rifled through several of them as she searched for her answer.

The Consort? Too well-known. Though perhaps her memories of Shepard would prove useful in the future.

Shiala? Her cipher couldn’t be that useful now that the Reapers had invaded. The clone would be too easily recognized among the colonists on Feros.

Liara T’soni? She would have so many more memories of Shepard than the others, _personal_ memories. And yet…

_Bloody hell,_ Rasa thought to herself, sweeping several dossiers to the side. Damn Shepard and all her alien followers. It’s not like they ever came to her rescue after her arrest. Rasa rubbed her face, nearly calling it a night. And then her eyes fell upon Dr. Okeer’s dossier.

The bad doctor had died shortly after meeting Shepard. Rasa had filed it away, not all that interested in the mad Krogan’s experiments, nor in his ‘perfect’ krogan who later assisted Shepard against the Collectors. One word caught Rasa’s eyes, and she smiled.

Turning toward the stasis pod behind her, Rasa slid a hand down its glass surface, eyeing the shadow of a body inside. “Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

* * *

 

Rasa followed Rana Thanoptis for seven days following her discovery. The former scientist led a quiet life. She rarely left her apartment on Hayeiana’s largest city: Serrice, and even then it was only to order take out or to visit her place of employment—the Serrice Military Development Center. Rana had no known companions or associates outside of the Serrrice laboratories, making her the perfect target.

Inside, Rana sprawled out on her sofa, watching the latest Blasto sequel. Thanoptis glanced up as her doorbell rang. Strange, her delivered dinner had arrived an hour before. Yawning, she paused the vid and made her way to the door. Hopefully whoever it was wouldn’t take much of her time—Rana needed to go to bed soon. She pressed the intercom button, pulling up a live feed of the delivery woman outside.

“Delivery!” She chirped, waving a datapad in front of the camera. Her long dark hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and her brown eyes glimmered in the screen.

“I didn’t order anything.” Between the Blue Suns and Serrice’s rival companies, Thanoptis had enough enemies. She wouldn’t open the door for just anyone.

“Must be a gift…from an admirer! Whomever it was didn’t leave a name….” She glanced down at her datapad. “Oh! Wait. Here it is.” The delivery woman laughed nervously. “No first name…but the last name is Shepard.”

Rana blinked. “This must be some sort of joke. Shepard barely let me out alive either time. You can tell her that I rejected the pack—“

“Wait! There’s a note!” The delivery woman stepped closer, clearing her throat. “Dear Rana, sorry for Virmire and Korlus. I might need your help soon, so take this as my ap—“

“Alright, alright. Come in. No need to read her note to whole neighborhood.” Rana buzzed her inside. She watched the delivery woman wheel a tall package inside on a dolly. It stood as tall as her, if not a meter taller. One hell of an apology.

“So, do you need me to sign something or--?” Rana almost turned around, and then she felt a muzzle of a gun at her back.

“I’m afraid I’ll need much more than that.”


	2. Spark

Apparently most people don’t remember their first moments; the Clone remembers hers vividly. The hiss of sealed air escaping her stasis pod. The mist parting before her eyes, revealing a woman’s face. Her lips moved as she spoke, her dark complexion shining as the moisture hit her skin. Even after she learned to speak, the Clone couldn’t remember what the runaway Cerberus agent had said to her that day. But she’d never forget the spark in her eyes.

The Clone’s legs failed her as she moved out of the pod, crumbling to the floor. Goosebumps covered her skin, and her hands and knees went numb against the cold tiles. Water streamed down her skin to the floor, to the drain. Why did the floor have a drain?

“Are you alright?” A blue woman—an Asari-- in lab clothes reached for her.

The first woman batted her hand away. “Leave it alone.”

Cold. She felt so cold.

“But—“

“We need to see if the implants are working.” Turning to her, the first woman folded her arms. “Stand.”

_Stand_. She felt each spark as it fired across her brain cells, giving meaning to the command—but her legs felt so stiff. A hiss escaped her mouth as she wobbled to her feet. “Name?”

The Asari’s eyes lit up, and she covered her mouth. Surprise, likely. Admiration. Satisfaction. Why?

“You may call me Hope Lillium.” Hope reached out her hand, letting the other drop to her hip.

Another spark. Handshake—a common, formal greeting among humans. Her species. She met Hope’s hand with her own. “My name?”

The Asari opened her mouth, and Hope waved her off. “One day, you’ll be Commander Jane Shepard, First Council Spectre, and pride of the Alliance Navy.”

Her head ached with all the new information, but none of it had the answer she yearned for. “Now?”

Hope frowned, and the Asari sighed. “You have no name.”

The Asari rolled her eyes. “Clearly, we’re done here. So if you don’t mind, I have actual work to do.” She made for the door. 

Hope pulled something from her holster. A gun. It beeped as she hit her hand against it--the safety. “Normally, I’d kill you, Thanoptis, but I need insurance that the clone’s new implants won’t fail.”

Clone? A copy of an organic life form. Rare. Most died. Others failed to mimic the original.

“Goddess.” Thanoptis froze, hissing the words under her breath. “You can’t keep me in this forgotten lab. Someone at work will miss me. And you can’t keep a gun to my head while I’m at work.” She started to smile towards the end.

“You’re right.” Hope smiled too. “But I do know where you sleep.” She walked closer. “And there’s nowhere you can hide that I won’t find you.”

Thanoptis snarled. “I already told you. I perfected the implants on Okeer’s Krogan. They won’t fail. May I leave now?”

“Of course. We’ll be right behind you.” The door hissed shut, leaving them alone.

Shivering again, the clone hugged her middle. A soft hiss slipped from her lips.

Hope blinked at her. “Oh. Right. You must be freezing.” She walked over to a locker next to the lab equipment…next to the pod the clone had come from. She pulled out a small stack of clothes. “Here. These should be just your size.”

Another spark. Warmth flooded the clone’s cheeks. A blush. Only then did she realize she had been naked this entire time. She put the clothes on, or tried to, really. Hope reached over, helping her with firm, precise touches. The clone felt a small spark each time she did. Why?

The implants reacted, flooding her brain with a cacophony of images, deepening the blush on her cheeks. If Hope noticed, she didn’t remark on it. “Come on.” She slid a hoodie over the clone’s head, hiding her face. “Let’s get you out of here.”


	3. Cover Story

First Hope dyes the Clone’s red hair a dull brown, and she perms it the moment it grows long enough. She buys contacts to turn the Clone’s warm chocolate eyes a bright green. Between meals Hope quizzes the Clone on Commander Shepard’s known history. During meals she quizzes her on her own, made up history.

She swallows another spoonful of Pad Thai, her favorite. Strange--Shepard prefers spicy yellow curry. “I was born in the human colony Yandoa, exposed in utero to dust form element zero. I was given an L3 implant at age 17, but initially chose not to pursue biotic training. After getting a college degree I’m now studying my biotics and its related applications to fund my graduate education.”

Hope doesn’t look up from her datapad. “Mmhm. And what did you study in school?”

“Physical science, with a focus on astrophysics.” The implants supplies the formulas and scientific facts readily enough. It’s the personal experiences she had trouble with. Neither Hope or Rana could implant Shepard’s memories directly into her skull. They only have news reports, Cerberus data feeds, and Alliance security recordings to work with. Even those leave huge gaps in Shepard’s history. Two lines about Shepard’s time with the Tenth Street Reds before joining the Alliance. A security vid showing Shepard entering the Consort’s Chambers. (What she paid the Consort for is anyone’s guess. With the way the Commander watched the dancers in Chora’s Den and Afterlife in the recordings, the Clone suspects Shepard got more than just words. She blushes at the thought.)

Whether she’s still terrible at masking her feelings, or Hope has just that much skill at reading people—she knows right away what the Clone is thinking. “As for your romantic history—“

The Clone shifts in her seat, fumbling over her words. “I always f-focused on school…dating was a distraction I didn’t need.”

Hope nods. “And now?”

Opening her mouth to answer, the Clone realizes she doesn’t have one. Their previous conversations focused on the past—not the present. The implants, readily designed for battle, don’t supply information for peaceful encounters. Seeing Hope frown, the Clone falters, and falls. Disappointing Hope is the last thing she wants. “I don’t know,” she replies finally.

Hope’s lips press into a thin line as she stands up. “The first rule of infiltration: _Always_ maintain your cover story. When your lie’s discovered, lie _harder_.” She moves closer, stopping in front of the Clone’s chair.

Recognizing her vulnerable position, the implants urge her to stand. Before she gets far, Hope grabs her chin, pulling her to eye level. “And now that you’re done with school and studying biotics, how do you feel about romance?

Her grip hurts a little, but the Clone can’t help but notice how close their faces are. She can feel the Hope’s breath on her lips—the smell of coffee so strong she can almost taste it. Warmth pools in her stomach. Swallowing, she answers. “No distractions.”

“Good girl.” Hope’s lips quirk at the corners as she releases her fingers.

Watching her walk away, the Clone realizes it’s the nicest thing Hope has ever said to her.

* * *

 

At night they share the same bed, but unlike the vids and the novels the Clone views on her datapad, they sleep with their clothes on and they don’t touch one another. The Clone would like to think that Hope is lonely and needs the Clone by her side at night. She suspects it has more to do with Hope fearing she’ll run away if left to her own devices. But why would she want to? Hope is all she has.


	4. Dreya

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy. I hope you all aren't expecting a happy go-lucky healthy romance, cause this fic ain't it.

The Clone enrolls at a commando training center. Her classmates differ from the picture the vids paint. These Asari lack wisdom and grace, and they’re not constantly trying to get into her pants or her mind, as the Extranet discourse would suggest. Their skin varies in shade, and they come in all heights and sizes, but the Clone’s classmates all have one thing in common: their biotics all surpass hers.

When she’s upset or angry, the clone can feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She smells the metallic tang of eezo in her nostrils, tastes it on her tongue. If she’s not thinking about it, sometimes the Clone can make a coffee cup rattle. One time she shattered a vase. Now? When she _wants_ to use her biotics? Nothing. Well, not exactly.

Their instructor, Nessa Tandros demonstrates a biotic pull. The glass rises gracefully in the air without spilling a drop of the water inside it. It’s only when Tandros looks directly at her and gestures with her hand that the Clone realizes she’s being called upon to join in the exercise. “Ana Fields?” Tandros frowns. “That is your name, isn’t it?”

_If only_ , the Clone thinks as she moves to the front of the room. She tries to raise the glass like the instructor did, and nothing happens. Doing her best to remember what the biotics _feel_ like, the Clone manages to make the glass rattle, and spill the water a little. Her classmates snicker softly.

“Mm. Perhaps we can work on this after class Miss Fi—“ Tandros gasps as the glass shatters against the ceiling.

Her classmates erupt into laughter. The clone’s cheeks grow hot as she stares at her hands. She’s too stunned to feel angry at the prospect of cleaning their training area for the next week. Even though the clone hears the sniggers and whispers behind her back after her ‘accident,’ she can’t help but feel proud of her accomplishment. Let her fellow students make fun of her—she’ll show them exactly what she’s made of.

* * *

 

One classmate starts up a conversation a few days later as they drill biotic pulls.

“My name’s Dreya.” She pulls the box with one lift of her index finger, though it wobbles in the air. “What brings you to Hayeiana?”

Keeping her eyes on the box, ‘Ana’ mutters her reply. “I want to improve my biotics.” The box wobbles, but remains firmly planted on the table in front of them.

“Clearly.” Dreya murmurs dryly, scooting closer. “Here, let me.” She grab’s the Clone’s wrist, steadying her hand, and the box. Her blue fingers slide across her palm, outlining the muscles connected to the nodules.

Ana gasps, and moves without thinking. Five heartbeats later Dreya’s arms are pretzeled behind her, and the Clone has the Asari’s face pressed against the table. “What the hell--?” Dreya starts to hiss, but Tandros interrupts them both.

“Impressive, for a human.”

Ana drops Dreya’s arms, stepping back. She realizes belatedly that she had never been in danger. Asari are sensual, touch-driven—the implants finally inform her. Her classmate’s grasp had been a gesture of help—possibly something else.

Tandros grasps Ana’s shoulder so firmly it hurts. “But hand to hand training will not start til next week.”

Feeling the stares of the entire classroom, Ana nods.

Releasing her grip, Tandros adds, “I think you’ll make an excellent Vanguard, Miss Fields.” It’s the same class as Jane Shepard. Should the Clone be elated or disappointed? She isn’t sure.

Watching Tandros return to the other side of the room, Dreya moves to the other side of the table, putting it between them. “What was that for?” She whispers fiercely.

“You grabbed me.”

“I was trying to help!”

Nodding, Ana answers softly. “I know.” This fails to satisfy her partner, and so she adds with a small smile, “Could you show me again?” She holds out her hand.

Dreya returns to her side. “Are all humans this high strung?” She hesitates, then grasps Ana’s hand a second time.

The Clone shrugs, concentrating on the direction Dreya’s fingers pull her skin. She takes a breath, smelling something fruity on the Asari’s skin. Do they all smell so nice? Ana lifts her fingers, imagining the static on the back of her neck traveling down her arms. The box lurches.

“Whoa! Easy. Not so much.” Dreya’s grip tightens, and Ana relaxes her muscles. The box rattles slightly as it drops back onto the table. Her breath tickles the Clone’s ears. “Wow, you really are a Vanguard.”

It takes countless tries, but eventually, the Clone can pull the box without breaking it against the ceiling, or herself. Her shoulder aches, and her stomach growls angrily at her.

Dreya tosses her a protein bar. “Say…why don’t we hang out sometime?”

The Clone itches to leave the confines of this facility, and the apartment she shares with Hope. Though she’s only seen glimpses of Hayeiana through the windows of the skycar she takes to training, the Cone knows Serrice is beautiful and she wants to see more of it. She nods.

“How about tonight?”

Ana’s mouth drops open before she can reply. Hope has scheduled an appointment with Rana to check her implants. She knows by now about the Clone’s outbursts, and she wants to fine tune the work the scientist has done. Last night the Clone looked up cybernetic implants on the Extranet, and she shudders, remembering how graphic the procedures described. Getting to know Dreya sounds far more pleasant. Nodding, she replies. “I’d like that.”

It’s her first act of disobedience.

* * *

 

She sneaks in through their bedroom window, after hours spent at the arcade with Dreya. The Clone is breathless, and full of warmth. All of the vids in the world failed to describe how much fun a few games could be—especially when she won. Tempering the warmth is the cold feeling that she…she went against Hope’s wishes. Another part, darker, quieter, and farther inside reminds her that Hope won’t have to find out.

Just as she closes the window behind her, the lights switch on. The Clone shields her eyes as she feels her heart race.

“You missed our appointment.”Hope stares her down, leaning against the opposite wall, her finger still on the switch.

The Clone remembers her lesson. “What appointment?”

Hope’s eyes flash and her voice rises. “You know what appointment!” She steps closer with each word. “Where were you?”

She lies a second time. “Wiping down the mats took longer today.” The Clone tries to will her heart to slow. Surely Hope can hear it pounding through her chest.

Hope brings up her omni tool, keying in a couple commands. “Then why do I have footage of you three kilometers away?”

The security footage is grainy, but there’s no mistaking her dyed-brown hair and curious eyes, walking down the corridors with an Asari at her hip. Her cheeks flush, betraying her. “That isn’t me.”

Hope’s nostrils flare. The Clone’s implants scream in warning, but she still doesn’t see the slap coming until it slams across her face. “Don’t _ever_ lie to me.”

Her eyes ache and she feels something wet forming at the corners. Tears. Why is she crying?

Hope seems surprised too. Her eyes widen as her hand falls to her side. She turns abruptly, ducking into the bathroom, and returning with a damp cloth and a tube of medigel. Brushing the blood from the cut on the Clone’s face, she says softly, “Everything I do, I do to make you better. Stronger. Invulnerable.”

“Then why do you hide me here?” The Clone shifts on her feet, craving and dreading Hope’s touch at the same time. “How am I supposed to be better if I’m tucked away as soon as my training sessions end?”

The medigel is cool on her skin, and the pain numbs almost immediately. “You’re not ready yet.”

“You teaching me to infiltrate!” The Clone clenches her fists. “I’m infiltrating!”

“You were to remain inconspicuous.” Hope’s voice remains the same volume as always, but it shakes with fury. The Clone has never seen her so angry. “This is far from it.” Hope’s fingers linger on her skin. “Promise me you will break it off.” It’s the first time Hope ever _asks_ anything of her, rather than giving her orders. The Clone isn’t sure what to feel about it.

“I promise.” It’s the first lie she ever tells her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always a skank for feedback, so don't be shy!


	5. Alenko

At first, the Clone tries to sleep, but she can’t get her conversation with Hope out of her head. Giving up on sleeping for the moment, she pads into the dining room, and seeks out her datapad.  Her eyes skim the her own file directories first, but none catch her eye, until she comes across those on Commander Shepard. Anything would be better than staring at the ceiling in bed, and so she opens the directory. She scrolls past the files she’s examined before,  and the Clone comes across one that catches her attention. It’s a security recording from one of the hospitals on the Citadel. The recording shows Shepard wounded in a waiting room, with a broken arm and medi-gel smeared on her face and chest. That is nothing unusual for Shepard, it’s the biotic marine she’s using for a pillow.

“Hope! I found something.” The clone calls her over, forgetting that her…partner? Flat mate? Keeper? is probably still asleep. Hope’s yawn comes out before she can stop it. “What is it?”

The Clone files away the sound for later, sitting up straighter. “Come look.”

Hope gets out of bed and comes to watch over the clone’s shoulder. She snorts. “Old news. Cerberus knew she was fucking Kaidan Alenko a long time ago.”

“How?” She had been studying Shepard for weeks now. The commander had never come close to anyone except to help them up for punch them in the face.

“Commander Shepard is nothing but discreet; I’ll give her that.” She leans closer, whispering against the Clone’s ear. “But you can’t keep secrets in an autopsy.”

The clone’s eyes narrow as she processes the information. “What?” she says automatically, needing more input.

Hope’s hand squeezes her shoulder. “Foreign DNA found on her body.”

Then the implants finally kick in. “Oh.” Her face flushes. “ _Oh_.”

Quirking her head, Hope watches her reaction. “Do you fancy Kaidan Alenko?”

The Clone hates that look. She hates,  _hates_  being studied—not just studied— _compared_ to Jane Shepard as if her every decision would be mapped out by her DNA. It’s her turn to snort. “No.” Alenko’s record proved even more spotless than Shepard’s. He came from an upper class military family on Earth, and thus had his career handed to him on a silver platter,  _despite_  murdering a Turian back in BAaT. His association with Shepard made him even more obnoxious. All the pop news sites speculated on his relationship status, because Alenko was always too busy saving the galaxy for an interview. “I’m better off killing him,” she finally says out loud, “he’d know me from the real thing right away.”

“Not necessarily. They only served together for a year at most.” Hope reaches past the Clone to pull up Alenko’s service records on the interface. The clone swallows, blissfully overwhelmed by the smell of Hope’s shampoo. Amber and spice. Sometimes after Hope falls asleep, the Clone rolls just a little bit closer so she can smell it.

She realizes then that Hope waits for her response, and she blushes. “But she chose him over Ashely Williams on Virmire. They had to have been close.”

Hope shrugs. “Or it could have been because Alenko manned the bomb.” Hope licks her lips. “What about men in general? Do you fancy them at all?”

Shrugging, the Clone answers. “We’re living in an Asari colony. I haven’t met that many.” Hope seems dissatisfied with her answer, and she doesn’t want to disappoint her. “Does it matter? I’ll do whatever needs to be done.”

Hope nods and moves to grab her datapad. The Clone desperately wants to say what she  _really_ feels for Hope, how she only really cares what Hope thinks, but she knows Hope won’t want to hear it. “Good answer.”Setting the datapad back down on the kitchen table, Hope takes her hand. “Let’s get some sleep.” Hope’s touch burns through the Clone’s skin, and her body is warm all over.

She won’t be able to sleep at all tonight.

 


	6. Singularity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Clone knows in her head that she should break things off with Dreya, but her heart has other ideas.

The Clone’s resolve to break things off with Dreya lasts exactly five minutes into their next training session. This class, Nessa Tandros leads them through some hand to hand combat maneuvers. Later, she promises, they’ll add biotics. Seeking out a new training partner, the Clone finds none. No one in the class seems wants to deal with Ana Field’s antics.

“Hey, I’m over here.” Dreya says wryly from behind her.

“Oh, right.” The Clone turns around, smiling slightly. _Shit_ , she thinks.

“I haven’t heard from you since last week.” Dreya’s smirk vanishes for the first time since the Clone’s met her. “Was it something I said?”

“What?” The Clone’s heart hammers in her chest. She should think of a lie. This would be her chance to do what Hope wants. Instead she says, “No. No! I was just busy.”

“Busy doing what?” Dreya draws her left foot back and raises her arms into a fighting stance.

The Clone mirrors her, the truth glaring in her mind. Researching Commander Shepard and her sexual history. What she says isn’t _that_ different. “Watching vids.” She manages to blush.

“Must have been the good kind.” Her partner’s aims a one-two punch. “Any recommendations?”

She ducks and weaves to avoid it, sweeping Dreya’s legs. “Not really.”

Dreya darts out of the way. “Uh huh. They must have been good if they kept you so distracted.”

Ana is about to lie again when she hears the tell-tale sound of a biotic warp. Her body races across the room at breakneck speed, nearly knocking over two of her classmates. “Sorry!” She mutters. How in the hell--? She’s about to try it again, on purpose this time, when she feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand up… and then her body is pulled spread-eagle towards the ceiling. Singularity.

Taking her time, Dreya walks over with a grin on her face. “I knew you had it in you.” She stops inches from Ana’s face. “You’re just a little out of practice, that’s all.” The field finally drops her, and she falls into Dreya’s arms. Her touch is warm and soft, and suddenly the Clone’s heart is pounding in her ears. Dreya tilts her head and leans her face toward hers. Their noses brush against one another and—

“If you’re planning to grapple, I suggest you do so on the mats.” Tandros stands a foot away, watching them with her arms folded.

Ana jumps out of Dreya’s arms, shocked that the implants gave her no warning of their instructor’s approach. Before Dreya can say anything, Ana cuts in “We were drilling a takedown, actually.”Dreya’s eyes narrow at her, and the Clone sees her gaze travel up and down her body as if she’s seeing her for the first time.

Tandros nods. “Alright. Show me.”

For once, the Clone finds her implants helpful, as they supply her with a suitable maneuver. She steps towards Dreya, nearly within kissing range, but instead of pressing her lips to hers, Ana hooks her arm under Dreya’s armpit and grabs the top of her shoulder. Slipping her calf between Dreya’s legs, she swings them to the ground, swinging her other leg behind her for the cinch. Dreya huffs a laugh.

“Well done.” Tandros nods as Ana helps Dreya back up.  “Try not to hesitate next time. Moves and counter moves, remember?”

Ana nods, holding her sigh of relief until Tandros has found new prey to pick on.

“Nice.” Dreya leans in closer, letting her voice drop. “We should definitely practice together more often.”

Something in the sound of her voice tells the Clone she isn’t talking about combat. She smiles, almost suggesting tonight, then remembers with a pang her rescheduled appointment with Rana. Hope surely won’t let her skip out a second time. “Tomorrow after class?”

“It’s a date.” Dreya grins.

The Clone shivers at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delayed update! Life got pretty crazy and then I got sick. If ever things seem too quiet on here, feel free to check my Tumblr for updates (tagged #captain's log) http://forlornmelody.tumblr.com


	7. Trust

Rana Thanoptis’s lab is cold and sterile, just like the Clone remembers. It makes her feel small, like a specimen on a Petri dish. In a way, that’s exactly what she is. She’s Hope Lillium’s grand experiment, another expensive Cerberus investment she hopes will pay off.  Today, Hope hedges her bets, having Rana inspect the Clone’s implants to ensure they’re working correctly.

Rana and Hope converse on the other side of the room. The Clone listens to their words, but they barely register over the hum of machines behind her.

“You’re saying there seems to be something wrong with my work.” Rana folds her arms defensively.

“There  _is_ something wrong with them. The clone can’t differentiate between an attack and a pat on the back. Someone’s bound to notice.”

“I can’t just replace the implants, you know. The effects would be catastrophic.”

“Then  _fix them._  I don’t care how.”

Something about the way they talk puts her on edge. They speak as if she can’t hear them.

“Fine, fine. I’ll just reroute some of the processing power to the subconscious centers.” Rana starts across the room, then stops abruptly. She spins around, jabbing her finger in Hope’s direction. “Stop whispering behind my back. I can hear you.”

Hope’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t argue. “Of course.” She follows behind Rana, watching the two of them closely. 

The Clone holds still as Rana clamps her wrists and ankles down. She gasps in pain when Rana disconnects her biotic amp. Through the stars in her eyes, the Clone sees Hope frown.

“Was that really necessary?” Hope folds her arms.

Rana places the amp on a folded piece of gauze, next to a set of implements that look suspiciously like torture devices. Her implants all-too-readily supply violent yet effective means of employing such instruments. _Not fucking helping_ , the Clone thinks to herself.

“I can’t guarantee this won’t hurt.” Rana holds up something that looks like a dental drill, only the Clone notices two tiny needles for positive and negative current. It’s connected to a machine that Rana has yet to activate.

She wants to be brave, but her body flinches against her will.

“It might go easier if you relax.” Easier said than done.

Hope narrows her eyes, then walks over to the chair. She sweeps the Clone’s growing hair out of her face, holding her cheek. Her thumb brushes her skin ever so slightly as Hope searches her eyes. “We’re only doing this to make you the best.” Then she whispers, “do you trust me?”

“With my life,” she answers without hesitation. Hope closes her eyes, and the Clone follows, shivering ever so slightly as Hope’s lips press against her other cheek. The needle pierces the back of her neck. She feels Hope squeeze her hand as the machine hums to life. Just as the Clone is about to squeeze back the current hits her implants.

Her world flashes white and she screams.

That night The Clone has her first nightmare. 


	8. Show Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to post two versions of this fic, partly because of FF.net's content policies, partly due to the differing sensibilities of my readers. Is you might have guessed with the updated rating, this version includes an explicit sex scene. The safe(r) for work version can be found on my Fanfiction.net account: https://www.fanfiction.net/~forlornmelody

The Clone remembers almost nothing from her next training session. All she can think about is Dreya and their upcoming study date. Only, she can’t imagine them getting much studying done--and she doesn’t want to. She impatiently watches clock tick forward as she works on her barrier—it’s not wanting to cooperate. Her biotics keep fluctuating with her concentration, which dips back and forth between her, the clock, and her training partner.

Dreya has a pistol loaded with stunning rounds, nothing lethal, but man, do they hurt when they launch through the gaps in Ana’s barrier. Her shots come lazily, half of them missing on purpose. She’s toying with her. “You know, if you don’t get your shit together Tandros is going to make you stay after class.”

“Not…happening.” She would _kill_ for a ration bar right now.

“Mm. What are those metaphors you humans like to use? Football? Dead infant dogs?”

Ana shrugs. “Hell if I know. Colony kid, remember? That stuff doesn’t translate past the relay.”

“Mm. Right. Okay. Imagine Tandros throwing up after a long night.”

Her barrier stutters as she laughs. “Do Asari even get hangovers?” One round hits her shoulder, sending electric sparks all over her nodes. “Grah.”

“Not usually. It’s easier just to burn off the alcohol. Unless we _want_ to get completely plastered.”  

Eons later Tandros finally dismisses them. Ana stands, stretching, and wincing as she feels every single one of those stun rounds as her muscles move. “Here.” Dreya steps up behind her, opening a medigel packet with one of her teeth. It’s the least graceful thing Ana’s ever seen her do. Dreya’s fingers glide over her skin, sending goosebumps all over her body. The implants flare in warning—her position is prone, the Asari is far too close to strike--

The words tumble out of her mouth before she can stop. “That feels really nice.” Ana blushes after more than one classmate stops their conversation to look at the both of them.

“Mm. Your place or mine?” Dreya gives the medigel one last rub. She taps Ana’s arm twice.

The look on Hope’s face when she flipped on the light flares across the Clone’s mind, and her muscles tense all over again. “Yours,” she says flatly.

Dreya leads her to a sky car in the nearest lot, and Ana runs her hand over the window. Her implants remind her of all the ways to crash a sky car and injure the other passenger, some options more lethal than others.

“It won’t kill you, I promise.” Dreya pulls the door open on the opposite side, watching her with an amused smile.

Opening the door on her side, Ana asks, “This is your skycar?” The Clone can’t recall a time where she’s ridden in one. Has she ever existed off this planet?

“Try not to scratch the paint. Now get in before it takes off without you.”

Ana laughs as she sits beside Dreya, pulling the door closed behind her. “Right. Because this car totally has a mind of its own.”

Dreya leans closer. “It does when I put it on autopilot.” Her finger taps the interface, and the car lifts off  ground, throwing Ana against the seat.

“Shit!” Her arms flail, and one of them grabs Dreya’s for purchase. “Oh, sorry.”

“Relax.” It’s Dreya’s turn to laugh. “You look like you’ve never flown before.”

 _Shit_. “It’s been a while.”

“Clearly.” Dreya leans closer, toying with the bangs falling into Ana’s face. “Now that we’re finally alone…”

Ana chews her lip, reaching with a tentative hand, brushing Dreya’s crests. The Clone swears Dreya’s skin glimmers even in the low light of the car. She watches her with an amused smirk. Tentatively, Ana squeezes one of the ends. “Does that hurt?”

“Not really. It would be pinching your earlobe, or your nostril.” Dreya takes her hand, guiding it between the ridges of her tentacles. Her voice falls soft, and her eyes close as Ana draws a finger up the line one of the tendrils. “Now _that_ feels really nice.”

It’s then Ana realizes their faces are close enough to kiss. She isn’t sure what to call what’s happening between them, but she knows she’s enjoying every minute of it. Bumping her nose against Dreya, the Clone whispers, “What does it feel like?”

Dreya snickers softly. “Well, I’ve never been _human_ , but your people seem to have a similar reaction when I do _this_.” She weaves her fingers between Ana’s hair, scratching small, soft circles against her scalp.

Ana’s eyelids flutter closed, her mind blissfully _silent_ for what might be the first time ever. She swallows, managing to find the words. “Yeah, that _does_ feel nice.”

“Hey, Ana?” Something in her voice makes the Clone open her eyes. The Asari’s eyes search her own as she  weaves her fingers in hers. “Can I kiss you right now?” She smiles shyly.

The Clone can barely speak. “Of course!” Warmth fills her body as Dreya leans forward, brushing her lips with her own. Just as Ana presses closer, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, the skycar beeps. Apparently it landed while their attention lied elsewhere.

“C’mon.” Dreya takes her hand, pulling her out of the skycar and toward one of the largest homes Ana has ever seen. It stands at three stories tall, curved like the petals of a tropical flower, wide at the base and sloping up to a sharp curve at the top. Glass covers the entire building. Ana stumbles as Dreya tugs her inside.

“This is your home?” Ana stands in a sprawling foyer, with two staircases spiraling from the entryway. A ring of sofas sit between them, with a marble coffee table between them. Hope’s apartment would fit on this bottom floor thrice over. “How many people live here?” The size staggers her, as do the number of entry points. Her implants examine several of them for their tactical weakness.

“All the local matriarchs and their families.” Dreya leads her up the staircase on the left, down the hall to the first suite on the right. “My mother, father, and I live in these rooms.”

Ana gapes at the living area, her gaze flying from one hall way, nook, and corner to another. She stops by the massive row of windows that rise from floor to ceiling, showing off the view of Serrice’s city center. Her hand presses up against the glass as she takes it in. The implants in her brain rage about how her back is turned, how vulnerable she is to attacks—The Clone does her best to ignore them.

“You okay?” Dreya slides an arm around Ana’s waist, leaning against her.

“Your home is beautiful.” She smiles shyly at the Asari inches from her face. “Makes sense, I guess.”

Dreya nuzzles the tip of her nose against her cheek, nearly kissing her lips, but never quite touching. “You look nice, too.” She smiles mischievously. “Maybe I’ll draw you if we have time.”

“Time? After what?”

Dreya answers her with a kiss.

While her kiss was soft and gentle before, this time Dreya doesn’t hold back, pressing her mouth and her body against Ana’s as if she can unite them as one. Her tongue slides along Ana’s bottom lip, and she invites her in with a small gasp. Ana swallows, feeling as warm as the sun outside, and yet she can’t get enough. She skims her hands up the back of Dreya’s neck, pressing tight, small circles along the bottom of her crest, melting at the sweet taste of the Asari’s mouth. They pull apart, breathing raggedly against each other’s faces.

“That was amazing.” Ana presses another kiss against Dreya’s cheek, closing her eyes in reverence.

Dreya brushes each of her cheek bones with her thumbs, cupping her jaw with her fingers. “Mm. We’re just getting started.” She slides her index finger down the bridge of her nose. “How far do you want to take this?”

“Uh…” Ana blushes as red as the sunset. She wants everything at once—her nose pressed against Dreya’s crest, her lips on her chest….her fingers between—“I…I haven’t done this before.”

The Asari smirks, and if she had eyebrows, one would be raised right now. “With an Asari? Or…with someone other than a man?”

Ana clears her throat.

Dreya laughs. “Don’t tell me.” She hugs her close, then pulls back to look into her eyes. If she’s put off by Ana’s shyness, she doesn’t show it. “ _Show_ me.” Taking Ana’s hands, she lays hers on top. “Show me how you want me to touch you.” Her words hum with warmth…and something different, something that flares in the Clone’s gut.

* * *

 

Chewing her lip, Ana takes Dreya’s right hand, guiding her fingers from her ear to the place where her neck and shoulder intersect. Warmth spreads throughout her body as she voices the words out loud. “I want you to kiss me here.” She takes Dreya’s left hand and slips it beneath the hem of her shirt. “And touch me  h—“ Her last word slips out in a gasp as Dreya’s lips brush against her skin.

“Is that the only place you want me touch you?” She kisses deeper, harder, and Ana grabs onto her hips, holding her tightly.

“N-no.” Ana finds herself kissing underneath Dreya’s chin as if to demonstrate her point. She manages to guide Dreya’s hand higher, to one of her breasts. “Mm.”

Dreya toys with her nipple. “Does that feel nice?”

Ana thinks it over, then shakes her head. “It doesn’t feel much like anything.” They shrug together, giggling softly.

“Not everything happens like in the vids.” Dreya says, grasping the hem of Ana’s shirt with her free hand. “Can I take your shirt off?”

Ana smirks. “Only if I get to take off yours.” She helps Dreya’s arms out of the sleeves of her jacket, then the sleeves of her shirt. It comes off the rest of the way with a biotic pull. “There. Now we’ve practiced.”

“Oh, I plan to practice a lot more than that.” Dreya laughs, as her hand hums down Ana’s spine.

“Mm, that does feel nice.” Ana eyes her shyly, following her gaze with her finger, reveling in Dreya’s impossibly soft skin. What strikes her are the scars, the birthmarks, the right breast slightly smaller than the left. She circles the irregular lines of her left tit, grinning as Dreya’s eyes fall closed. Her lips brush down Dreya’s chin, then her throat. As nervous as she feels, Ana focuses on exploring the Asari’s body, one kiss at a time.

“Hey…Ana.” Dreya manages to say between breaths. “Where else do you want me to--?” She moans as the Clone sucks her skin just underneath her ear.

Ana pauses, taking a breath. Part of her feels terrified that something in this act will expose what she really is. Something about her will seem inhuman, monstrous even. What scares her more is the thought of leaving her without Dreya knowing her at all. Maybe she can’t give the Asari her deepest secrets, but she can offer something else. Nuzzling her ear, she whispers, “I want you to touch _every_ part of me.

Dreya smiles wide, pulling back to search her eyes. She swallows nervously, thumbing Ana’s jaw line. “Really?”

“Really.” Ana laughs softly, sliding her hand down Dreya’s chest. Are Dreya’s eyes watering?

The Asari’s breath hitches as she breathes in, and she closes her eyes. “Relax. Open your mind.” When she opens her eyes, they’ve gone completely dark.

Ana snaps back when she feels Dreya’s thoughts on the edge of her consciousness. “What is that?”

Dreya blinks, shaking her head rapidly. “…A mind meld.” Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open. “Sorry…I thought…when you said….I thought you wanted to meld minds.”

The Clone rubs the back of her neck, looking at the floor. “…You don’t want in my head, trust me.” She hates that this stopped them…that it came between them. Her mind spins, as she smirks at the girl inches from her face. “…I wouldn’t mind having you in my thighs.”

“Oh really?” Dreya snickers, tentatively sliding her hands down Ana’s arms. “I might have to take you up on that.” She touches more lightly now, slowly bringing one hand to the zipper on Ana’s jeans, pausing before pulling it down. Ana urges her on with a wet, feverish kiss, pulling her closer until their chests bump against each other.

Now _that_ makes the Clone shiver, and she gasps when Dreya’s fingers find their way inside her underwear.

“Mm, so wet already.” Dreya stills her fingers, so close without actually touching her skin. She kisses Ana’s ear. “Show me, Ana. Show me how to make you come.”

Swallowing hard, Ana lays her hand on top of Dreya’s, pushing her fingers in a circular motion over her clit. She moans into the Asari’s neck, leaning heavily against her as the fingers move faster and harder. The Clone is putty in her hands, and for once, she doesn’t mind feeling so helpless. Her fingers on her free hand dig into her skin. Then she guides Dreya’s middle finger inside her vagina, and it slips in and out freely. “Shit!” Ana cries loudly, grinding a little into her hand as she starts to lose her balance.

“C’mere.” Dreya pulls her hand away, leading her to the couch, and sitting her down against the cushions. She eases her pants and underwear down her legs, resting her chin on Ana’s thighs. “I want to eat you out.”

Ana sits up a little, leaning her weight on her elbows. “Mm?”

Dreya laughs softly. “You know…lick your…what was the word? Pussy? Cunt? Clit?”

“Oh!” Ana blushes. “Yeah. I think I’d like that.” She spreads her legs, watching Dreya kneel at her feet.

She watches the city through the windows as Dreya plants her first kiss. The colors outside blur, but they seem to flare brighter as Ana runs her tongue across her skin. Dreya’s tongue laps her like an animal laps water, and Ana finds her hand holding the back of the Asari’s head. She smiles, remembering their conversation about the crests earlier. Ana scratches gently between them, and the Asari gasps between her legs, nosing her clit before licking her pussy, even sticking her tongue inside. She lets out a stream of swear words she didn’t even realize she knew, and her hips grind against Dreya’s face.  

Dreya brings up her fingers, kissing her clit, even sucking on it gently as she slips her fingers inside. The world around the Clone vanishes in a white heat. When she comes too, they are sitting together side by side on the couch, foreheads pressed together. “That was amazing.” Ana kisses the Asari softly, breathlessly, undoing her pants and pulling them down her legs. Her hands shake and fumble, but she won’t be deterred. She wants to feel every inch of her at once—she can’t wait.

Their lips crash together after Ana finally has her free of her clothes, and her hands wander across blue skin, reveling in the feel it against her fingers. Pulling back for air, she lets a hand wander between the valley of her breasts, shyly watching Dreya’s reaction as it slips past her belly button and between her thighs. “Show me,” she whispers into her cheek.

“If you insist.” Dreya eyes spark with mirth, guiding her hand against her folds, more firmly than Ana would have expected. She keeps the pace the Asari sets, watching her slowly but surely come apart in her arms. Then Dreya’s wrist sneaks around her own, touching her again. Ana grins against her mouth, grinding into her fingers, pressing her chest against hers. It’s in this moment that the Clone forgets her lack of experience, that she came out of a science experiment, that she’s only a copy of another person. In this moment she feels human.

* * *

 

Later after sun has started to set, and they’ve worn out their bodies, Ana holds Dreya close against her chest, not wanting to ever let her go. She struggles to find the words to describe how she feels, the overwhelming warmth in her body, the sunlight and the blissful silence between her ears. “Dreya…I…”

Someone on the other side of the room clears her throat. “Really, Dreya. Out here?”

Ana ducks behind the back of the couch, reaching for her clothes that have scattered between it and the windows.

“Oh hey, Dad. You’re home early.” Dreya hardly moves, and she grins at her father.

Ana manages to slip her shirt back on. “Eh…nice to meet you s—uh..” She frantically glances at Dreya for a hint.

“Please. My name is Vali T’Vasi. And who are you?” Dreya’s father eyes what little of her is visible past the couch with disdain.

“Ana Fields. Nice to meet you.” Dreya presses her pants into her hands. She dives to the floor, wrangling them back on. It’s then that she notices the twilight outside. _Shit_.

“Mm. Haven’t heard of you.”

Dreya rolls her eyes. “So she’s a colonist, so what?”

Ana touches her arm. “Dreya? Could I get a ride home? It’s getting late.”

“Probably lives in the slums, doesn’t she?”

“Enough, Dad.” Dreya leads her out, shaking her head. When they reach her car, Dreya says softly. “Sorry about that.”

Ana swallows the knot in her throat. “Could have been worse.” She gives Dreya her address and they take off.

They ride back in silence, Dreya boring holes into the windshield with her gaze. The Asari’s probably just angry with her dad, not at her, but her stomach keeps twisting into knots. “…I had a really great time.”

Dreya throws her a soft, sheepish smile. “So did I. This your place?” She lands the car, squeezing Ana’s hand.

“Yeah.” Ana dares to kiss her one last time. “Thank you. For everything”

“Always.” Dreya returns the kiss, watching her go. Ana waves as the sky car takes off.

Hope locks the door behind her. “How was your study date?”

Ana starts a little at the word “date,” but she tries to play it off. “Really well. We drilled some pulling maneuvers. Wanna see?”

Yawning, Hope shakes her head. “Not particularly. Let’s grab something to eat.” Something about Hope’s stare seems to pierce right through her. She slides an arm around her, guiding her to the kitchen.

“Sounds good.” The Clone rests her hand on Hope’s, remembering the feel of Dreya’s fingers all too well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely feedback! No comment is too short or too simple. I look forward to what you have to say. :)


	9. Leverage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love, love, love that this fic is so well appreciated by all of you. Thank you for all the feedback thus far. I'm always a sucker for comments, so don't be shy!

The rest of the night passes without incident, and the Clone begins to hope that Hope won’t say or do anything about Dreya. What she finds on her datapad the next morning proves her wrong. There the Clone finds an index of articles on Ardat Yakshi. At first she doesn’t make the connection, but as she reads about the statistics of the monsters who pass as everyday Asari, who murder people through mind melds, the Clone’s blood begins to boil.

Pushing her chair back, the Clone storms into the kitchen, to the woman leaning against the counter. “What the hell is _this_?”

Hope doesn’t look up from her datapad. “I thought you might find that information useful.”

“Dreya is _not_ an Ardat Yakshi.”

The ex-Cerberus agent sips her coffee. “How do you know for certain?”

“You’re just assuming she is because she’s a pureblood. Or maybe it’s because _you’re_ a xenophobic bitch.” The Clone turns to leave, grabbing her training bag on her way toward the door. Her appetite has dissolved, so she may as well get some extra drills in before class.

Hope calls after her. “Don’t you find it odd that an Asari in her maiden stage is still living at home with her family?”

The Clone knows she should ignore her and keep moving, but her feet stop anyway. “Dreya has no desire to go dance in some club or blow someone’s brain’s out.” _She’s an artist,_ the Clone thinks to herself, but she has a feeling Hope won’t care.

“My sources say it’s because her parents don’t want to send her away to a monastery and tarnish their delicate reputation.”

Blue energy surges across her body as the Clone fights to contain her emotions. She turns to face Hope as a new thought occurs to her. "Are you jealous?"

Hope wrinkles her nose. "Of course not." Her cheeks redden despite her.

The Clone dares to close the distance between them. Her heart races, though the Clone can't pinpoint the reason why. Maybe she still...likes(?) Hope despite everything. She tells herself that this isn't about attraction, or sentiment—this is a test, pure and simple. When she stands close enough to smell the spice of Hope's perfume, she strikes, but not with her hands. "You _like_ me. Don't you?" She whispers softly.

Hope snorts, folding her arms--a defensive maneuver the Clone has learned to recognize. "Hardly."

"Really?" The Clone dares to nudge Hope's cheek with her nose. She hears Hope's breath quicken, or is that her own she hears?

Parting her lips slightly, as if to breath her in, Hope steps back. "Really. Now go. You'll be late for class."

Taking a small bow, the Clone rejoices inwardly as she files this information away for later. "If you insist." Leverage. If she were paying attention, Hope would be proud.


	10. Promise

Dreya T’Vasi’s parents whisk her away on several political luncheons, dinners, press conferences, and the like. She misses three days of class, and Ana has to train with Tandros. If she didn’t miss Dreya before, she  _definitely_ misses her now. Tandros proves relentless. Ana’s vanguard techniques likely improve tenfold, but she’d rather learn how to be  _normal_  rather than superhuman.

Stretching her sore muscles and rubbing her aching temples on her way out yet another one-on-one, Ana hears a  _ping!_  on her omni tool. Glancing down, the Clone sees a message from Dreya:

_Hey there!_

_I miss your face. Actually, I miss a whole lot more than that. Come see me? I’ll pay your fare._

_\--_ _Dreya_ _._

The Clone can perfectly imagine Dreya saying it out loud, but she’s thankful for the written message. No need to alert the rest of her classmates as they depart. She heads to the transit terminal, and punches in the coordinates for the Serrice House of the Matriarchs. After the skycar arrives, she takes a deep breath and sits inside, shutting the door behind her. Closing her eyes, she braces herself as it lifts off.

Without Dreya, the journey takes longer. The Clone entertains herself by watching the city of Serrice race by below her. She will never tire of this city, but she fears she’ll have to leave it sooner than later—the Reapers won’t wait forever.

Dreya buzzes her in at the front door. Funny, the Clone never noticed the elaborate security detail before. Two sets of commandos stand outside, and inside the entrance. They stand so still, the Clone would have mistaken them for statues, had not one of their noses started to itch.

“About time you got here.” Dreya leans against the railing of the stairs, smirking at the Clone from across the parlor.

“Sorry, Tandros held me over late.” Ana yawns. “She wanted me to nova at least twenty more times.”

“Poor thing. I bet you’re starving.” She meets Ana half way and pulls her into a hug. Ana melts into Dreya’s embrace. “What is it you humans are always going on about? Pizza?”

Ana presses a soft kiss against her chin. “Never had it.”

Dreya blinks at her. “Who the hell raised you? Rachni?”

_No, actually. Just your average psychotic ex-Cerberus operative. Why do you ask?_  The Clone shakes it off with a laugh. “My…roommate’s kind of a health nut.”

“Clearly. C’mon. I wanna show you something.” Dreya takes her hand, pulling her upstairs.

“Oo. Finally gonna tell me your big dark secret?” Ana squeezes her hand playfully.

“You know it.” Dreya pulls her into her personal quarters, which doesn’t amount to more than a desk, a bed, and a small wardrobe. Ana realizes with a start, that Dreya’s room doesn’t differ that much from her own. “Don’t be shy. Have a seat.” The Asari pats a spot down on the bed, before taking a seat at her desk.

Ana runs her hand down the satin comforter. This is the bed Dreya sleeps in—it thrills the Clone to be sitting on it.

Dreya rummages in one of the drawers. “Ah, here!” She hands Ana a leather journal and a narrow tin. Inside Ana finds a set of charcoal pencils. “I did promise you I’d draw you. Thought maybe you’d need something to keep your hands busy.”

“I know  _plenty_  of ways to keep my hands busy.” Ana beckons with her finger suggestively. Both of them laugh.

“Later. I want to get a good look at you first.” Dreya chews her lip, a shy gesture Ana rarely sees on her. “Sometimes I feel like I hardly know you.”

Ana freezes, nearly dropping the pencil she had just pulled out. “…What do you mean?” She doesn’t want to,  _Godesss_ , she doesn’t want to, but the Clone can’t help but think of the information Hope left on her datapad. 

_An_ _Ardat_ _Yakshi will continually lure her prey into the mind meld until she is successful._

Dreya chews over her words before answering. “You never talk about your parents, and you hardly mention whoever you’re living with. You’re…you’re the only alien I’ve…been with who doesn’t want to meld with me.” Before Dreya looks down at the floor, the Clone swears she sees the Asari’s eyes water.

_The_ _Ardat_ _Yakshi will use any form of_ _mani_ _pu_ _lation_ _at her disposal—emotional, physical, financial._

“Dreya, please.” Ana crosses the room, pulling her into a hug. “I just don’t want anyone inside my head.” It’s the truth. Or at least it was, before. 

“Why  _not_ _?_ ” Dreya holds her face, searching her eyes. “I’m not going to rummage around your dirty laundry. I…I just want to make you feel  _good,_ inside and out.”

_She will promise_ _ecstasy, pleasure beyond imagining._

It can't be true. It  _can't be._ The Clone aches. In no universe would she ever want to hurt Dreya, and she knows that’s exactly what she’s doing by refusing. Even if Hope lied, the Clone can’t sabotage her mission. Part of her wonders if the mission is even worth it. Then she imagines what would happen if the Reapers showed up on Hayeiana, and what would happen to Dreya. She can’t let that happen, no matter what.

A dangerous thought sparks in the Clone's mind. The implants warn her of all the ways it could go wrong, but her heart refuses to listen. "Hey. I... I really like you, okay?" Ana nuzzles the Asari's nose brushing her lips against her cheek. "I'm not saying I won't  _ever_  want to meld with you...I just...I can't right now." She bites her lip. "It  _will_  happen. Someday." Hopefully sooner than later.

Dreya smiles as bright as the sun. "Promise?"

Her heart feels like she's standing on the edge of a cliff. With no hesitation, the Clone jumps off. "Promise."


	11. Hollowing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all weren't reading this for happy fluff times, were you? *hides*

That night the Clone returns home with absolutely terrible drawing of Dreya in her new journal. She also comes home with a new resolve. It's a simple maneuver to slip a sedative into Hope's evening coffee, so that the Clone can  _finally_ have some time alone. In the hours that pass she doesn't sleep, spending the night on every news site she can find—tracking Commander Shepard's progress. 

The news proves both better than the Clone could have expected, and worse than she could have hoped. Not only has Commander Shepard used a thresher maw to kill a reaper, she's even taken one down on foot. Neither victory benefited humanity, at least not directly. Sure, Shepard won promises of assistance from the Turians, the Krogan, the Quarians, even the  _Geth_ , but can anyone deliver when they're busy defending their own systems? If anyone can get them to cooperate—it's Shepard. Isn't she the one who brokered peace between four races that had been fighting for centuries? 

Closing the news reports, the Clone looks up flights departing Hayeiana, and digs out Hope's credit chit. 

* * *

 

She packs a two bags and takes them with her to class—one for her, and one for the woman she plans to run away with. The Clone spots Dreya at the corner of the gym they train in, and she runs over, pulling her into a hug. 

"Good morning to you, too," Dreya says with a laugh, squeezing her gently. 

"Dreya, let's leave after class." Ana whispers in her ear, grinning like an idiot. 

"Isn't that the idea?" Dreya kisses her cheek as she pulls back. "What's up with you today?"

"I have two tickets to Horizon with our names on them."

"A vacation, huh?"

Ana licks her lips, glancing around the room to make sure no one, especially Hope, is watching. "More like a getaway."

"Mm. I like the sound of that." Dreya is just about to pull her into a  _real kiss,_ when Tandros' makes an announcement. 

"Our original plan was to review combat maneuvers in our terrain simulator, but it seems the War Council would like to see a demonstration--" Dreya and Ana share a glance between them as their instructor continues. "--At the Serrice Council Military Development Center."

No. No.  _No._ Why today? Why did this glorified field trip have to happen today? The Clone opens her new omni tool (ordered and delivered overnight) and checks the Center's location against the spaceport. She sags with relief—the Research Center only brings them closer. As long as they don’t linger too long, Dreya and Ana can make it even harder for Hope to catch them. Her sedative is supposed to last up to 16 hours at the dosage the Clone used, but results can vary. Every second wasted could cost them. 

They board the shuttles, and Ana can't help but squeeze Dreya's hand as they sit down. She leans over, her voice shaking as she whispers in her ear. "Once we're on Horizon, I'll share everything. No more secrets."

A rare blush darts across Dreya's cheeks as she whispers back. "You sure?"

Ana nods, laughing softly. "Mmhm. I want to."

Dreya grins. "This is one hell of a getaway you've got planned."

"You've no idea." 

They depart the shuttle hand in hand and follow the rest of their class toward the entrance. On the way, Ana spots a familiar face. Rana Thanoptis leaves the building behind, the most calm and collected the Clone has ever seen her. She practically floats towards the transit terminal. But why would she leave work so early in the day? 

"Hey, Space Cadet, you're falling behind." One of Ana's classmates pushes her through the door. 

The Clone moves to catch up with Dreya, but as she moves past the restroom, someone pulls her inside.

“Hope!?” The Clone stares at their reflections in the bathroom mirror, dumbfounded. “How..?”

“You’re not the only one with implants.” Hope’s face is passive, immutable as always, but her grip is tight on the Clone’s shoulder.” “Mine just happens to counteract high dosages of drugs and toxins, including sedatives.”

Distantly, the Clone remembers one of her first lessons. "...What are you doing here?"

Hope spins her around, bringing them face to face. "I think the better question is—what are  _you_  doing here?" Her eyes narrow. 

The Clone searches her mind for a better lie when a metallic odor tickles her nostrils. It seems out of place here, why? She's only smelt that tang with--"Eezo."

"What?" Hope blinks, her grip loosening slightly.

"I smell eezo. A lot of it." The Clone's nose wrinkles as if to prove her point. It's nearly giving her a headache. 

"We're in an Asari colony.  _Of course_ _,_  there's Element Zero everywhere."

The Clone shakes her head. "Never this much." Her heart hammers and her implants go into overdrive, searching for factors that alter the equation. Elements that are out of place, like smells...and people. She looks up at Hope. "You have Rana Thanoptis's schedule, right?"

"...Yes. Why?"

"Is she supposed to be working right now? Or is she on lunch?"

"I don't see why this is relevant." Hope pulls out her omni-tool anyway, typing into interface. "She's scheduled until 1 pm."

Part of the Clone feels relief at being right...but the answer only forms new questions. Her voice barely caries over the sound of the bathroom fans. "Then why was she leaving ten minutes ago?"

Hope's lips press together as she thinks it over. Then her eyes widen. "Oh no."

"What?" This time, the Clone squeezes her wrists as if it'll make Hope answer her sooner. She's never seen Hope worried, not like this.

"She's still indoctrinated. We need to leave.  _Now."_ Hope tugs on her grip, pulling her towards the hall. 

Why would one indoctrinated Asari be a threat? Especially at range? Asari aren't known for their snipers, though some commandos carry rocket launchers. Neither of those use, eezo, though. The Clone's implants search for strategies using long-range biotics, and the answer hits her like high speed train.  _"_ Do you have the schematics for this building?"

"It doesn't matter. We're  _leaving_." 

The Clone yanks her hand out of Hope's grip, nearly snarling. She doesn't have time for this. "Show me the schematics,  _now_." 

Hope stops, staring at the Clone like she's seeing her for the first time. She hesitates, then re-opens her omni-tool. "Alright." 

They study it together, and the Clone sees the structural weaknesses with a twinge in her gut. She pulls up her own omni-tool, calling Dreya's number through the city directory. She sags with relief when the Asari's face pops up on her interface. "Dreya! Hey. Where're you at?"

"We're passing by the assembly lines, and we're heading to the viewing platform. Joy." Dreya drawls, rolling her eyes. "Why? You get lost?"

Ana starts to smile before her brain makes the connection between the grid showing on Hope's omni tool and Dreya's description. "...Something like that. Could you come back to the lobby? Please?" She's trying desperately to look calm. Panic, the implants suggest, would only make things worse for all of them. 

"Aren't you listening? We're leaving.  _Now_." Hope tugs on her arm again, less gently this time. 

Dreya probably can't see much of Hope, but apparently, she can overhear her talking in such close proximity. "Who the hell are you?"

The Clone glares at Hope, answering for her. "I'll explain later. Come towards me, okay? I'll meet you halfway."

Scrunching her nose, the Asari nods. "Okay. But you get to explain this to Tandros."

Smiling as she pulls Hope through the door, the Ana nods. "Of course. And Dreya?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay on the line. Please." She moves through the halls, hoping desperately that she'll reach Dreya in time. Hope follows behind, arguing as much as she can without drawing attention to them. 

"Sure." Dreya searches Ana's eyes through the interface. "Are you okay? You're kind of freaking me out."

The stench of eezo gets stronger as they get closer, and the implants blare in warning. If the Asari notice, they certainly don't seem to mind the threat. "I'll be fine once we get out of here." Ana smiles in the most soothing manner she can manage. 

Dreya doesn't seem convinced. "Yeah, about that." She looks away, and in the corner of the interface, the Clone can see Tandros closing in.  _Shit_. 

"What do you think you're doing?" The vid call shuts off abruptly. 

"No!" The Clone nearly breaks into the run, before Hope stops her. She rears on her... what are they? Partners? Roommates? Fugitives? "What?" She snaps.

"Stay calm. You won't get to her in time if you get stopped."

" _Yo_ _u're_ the one stopping me."

Hope pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm  _helping_  you. Only because you won't leave until  _she's_  dealt with."

"She has a name." The Clone takes off again, at a pace Hope will tolerate. Her heart races ahead of her, trying to keep up with the pace of her thoughts. 

It probably only takes them minutes to reach the assembly line, but it feels like days in the Clone's mind. Her heart soars as she spots Dreya in the center of the long hall, and she waves. She clears her throat to call her name, and it's then the Clone sees the blinking lights of the bomb just a few meters from where Dreya stands. The reek of Element Zero gets worse with each pulse.  _No._

"Dreya!" Ana calls out across the room. At first the Asari doesn't hear her, and so the Clone repeats herself, as loud as she can. Finally, Dreya turns around and waves. 

The bomb explodes in a flash of light. 

" _No!_ " The Clone screams as she lurches forward, but Hope pulls her back, spinning them around so the heat of the blast doesn't burn their faces. The windows of the nearby viewing platform shatter. Hope and the Clone flinch as they hear the sound of cracks forming in the supporting beams, and what sounds like the ceiling crumbling above her classmates. 

When the dust settles, and the screams set in, the Clone tears out of Hope's grasp and charges towards the rubble. She stops at the edge, pulling off the pieces of marble, concrete, and steel one by one with her biotics. Her implants don't help her find Dreya—they only droll on about the instability of the building around them. She doesn't care. 

Finally,  _finally_ , she spots a blue arm with the glimmer of gold tattoos sticking out of two pieces of rubble. They don't shine as much as they usually do, covered by dust and grime, but the Clone knows them all the same. She falls to her knees, pulling Dreya out of the rubble as gently as she can, but it's no use. The Asari's body is painfully still, and something—the Clone can't describe it—something's changed. Without life, Dreya's skin is tight and stiff, and her eyes stare out blankly like a doll. Ana checks her pulse point anyway, shattering inside when she feels nothing. 

Distantly, the Clone feels Hope pulling her away from the crime scene as the authorities pour in to address the situation. She follows numbly to the shuttle, but all she sees is the emptiness in Dreya's eyes. The shuttle takes off, and Hope is giving coordinates to their new home, but it doesn't register in the Clone's mind. She's too busy running the scenario by her implants over and over again, trying to find where she went wrong. The implants fail each time, and it's then the Clone realizes she was never programmed to save lives. She was brought back to destroy them. 


	12. Broken

The shuttle deposits them on Pragia, and Hope and the Clone settle in an abandoned food processing plant. Centuries have passed since anyone used the vats, blades, presses, or packaging machines for food. All of the mercenary gangs who have used it since know better. On Pragia, nothing grows that won’t poison or devour its inhabitants. Hope has supplies shipped to them instead. 

In the intervening days, the Clone does as she’s told--she doesn’t have the energy to argue. She spends her time researching Commander Shepard, watching news interviews, doing her best to imitate her speech and mannerisms. With each passing interview the Commander looks more and more exhausted, though now there’s a glimmer in her eyes that the Clone hasn’t seen before. It isn’t fair. Why does Shepard get to be happy after all that she’s done? Sure, she saved the galaxy twice over, but she also killed an entire system of batarians for six months of extra time. A shitty bargain--that. 

When her eyes blur and her throat runs ragged from all the talking, the Clone sets her datapad aside and pulls out the journal Dreya gave her. She’s terrified of forgetting the woman she lo--liked, so she draws her repeatedly, or at least she attempts to. The lines keep blurring when her eyes fill with tears. Sometimes her hands shake; sometimes her whole body does. Other times the pencil is too heavy to wield, but the Clone has to keep trying. Her own memory can’t be trusted anymore. Too often she forgets that Dreya died. Instead of remembering the explosion, her mind will think of the future--plans of running off to Sanctuary with Dreya, starting a new life, creating art and making a home together. Then the Clone will remember warmth already fading from Dreya’s arms, the stillness of her face, the heart no longer beating, and she’ll break down all over again. Hope must find her pathetic--hell,  _ she knows _ she’s being pathetic, so she doesn’t argue when Hope plops down next to her. 

Hope sits there a long time. Maybe she’s waiting for the Clone to compose herself (not likely to happen any time soon.) More likely, Hope’s gathering ammunition to argue her case (not necessary, but she doesn’t realize that.) She opens her mouth, then closes it, before laying a hand on the Clone’s knee. Not too long ago, such a gesture would have thrilled her, but her body is numb, and so is her soul--if she even has one. Taking a breath, Hope makes eye contact. “I’ve hired a mercenary gang called Cat 6.”

“Dishonorably discharged servicemen?” It doesn’t sound promising. 

Nodding, Hope squeezes the Clone’s knee. “They’re ruthless. Will do anything for the person writing their paycheck.” She traces a circle on her kneecap. “I need you to be that person.”

If the Clone doesn’t know what  _ she _ is, how can she pretend to be something she’s not? “I can’t.”

“They need to think you’re in charge. When we take down Shepard, they need to be following your orders.”

“What’s the point?”

Hope’s eyes narrow. “Point?”

“What’s the point of taking out Shepard? We just go on and take on the Reapers ourselves? Do you realize how stupid that sounds?”

Pinching her forehead, Hope sighs. “Shepard is the strongest individual in this galaxy. If you can take  _ her _ out, you can take on  _ anyone _ .”

The Clone snorts. “That’s probably what the Collectors thought. And look what happened to them.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Dreya’s  _ dead _ , Hope.” And there they are, again. Tears already reforming in her already aching eyes. It seems to be all she’s capable of, these days. “If I can’t save one  _ fucking _ Asari, how in hell am I supposed to save a galaxy?”

Hope’s jaw tightens. The Clone flinches, remembering vividly the last time it did that. Seeing her reaction, Hope softens. She closes her eyes, and nods as if counting to three. Her voice comes out softly. “I tried to protect you from this.”

“From what?”

“From  _ this _ .” Hope reaches for the journal, and the Clone jerks it back.

“Don’t  _ you dare _ .” 

Hope holds up her hands, as if she’s surrendering. “You feel broken inside, don’t you?”

The Clone looks away instead of answering.

“Mmhm.” Brushing her fingers across the Clone’s cheek, Hope pulls her gaze back. “We call that heartbreak.” 

“So what?” She means to say it with more bite, but the words come without teeth.

Hope taps her cheek. “They can only break your heart if they have it to begin with.”

Ice forms in the Clone’s stomach and spreads to the rest of her body. “What are you saying?” 

“Don’t give them your heart.” Hope squeezes her chin.

The Clone starts to pull away. “Hope--” 

Hope interrupts her. “--I’m not saying you can’t sleep with them. We all have needs. It would be distracting not to.”

She should say something, argue, protest, walk away, but her brain catches on the word “we” and sticks there. Did Hope mean anything by that? The Clone’s heart races in spite of herself.

“Take your heart and lock it away, and no one, and no thing can ever hurt you again.” Hope squeezes her shoulder. “Alright?”

Swallowing hard, her voice thick, the Clone answers, “Alright.”   
  



	13. Names

In the following days, humans of all genders pour in from all corners of the galaxy. Maya Brooks, as Hope is now calling herself, checks with them each individually. The Clone watches from the monitor room, wondering how many of the recruits will survive the assault on Shepard. She’s been watching vids of Shepard fighting against Cerberus, and every one ends in a bloodbath. It’s no surprise that Shepard hates the Illusive Man and everyone working for him--with the Thresher Maw incident on Akuze, the experiments on husks, rachni, and Thorian creepers. Gavin Archer’s torture of his own brother disturbs the Clone the most. Part of her wonders what would have happened had Hope--Maya hadn’t rescued her first. 

Brooks sits her down, takes a razor to her curly brown locks, and throws the Clone’s green contacts in the trash. Ana Fields is gone forever. In her place is a person the Clone doesn’t recognize. She certainly isn’t Jane Shepard, at least not yet. 

Handing her a set of armor, Brooks says, “Here, put this on.” It has the tell-tale stripes on N7 armor, but a blue ribbon of color instead of red. The Clone wonders if Brooks is trying to tell her something. She dons the armor, but it feels heavy and foreign on her body, not at all like the light armor Asari commandos train in. Walking around, she feels nothing of Dreya’s natural grace. Instead she feels like an elephant wearing wind chimes. 

Later, Brooks calls the recruits to orientation. The warehouse manages to hold them all, but each stands within punching range of another. 

“Men and women of Cat6, I give you your Commander.” Brooks pushes the Clone forward, and she stumbles to attention. Her implants scream in warning. There is no cover on this stage--her only advantage is her height relative to the crowd. But it means nothing against their sheer numbers. 

The crowd doesn’t cheer or clap like they would for Shepard. It remains so quiet the Clone can hear her own pulse pounding her ears. Then murmuring bubbles up from the center of the room and spreads like cancer. Hope--Maya looks at her expectantly, waiting for her to say something, but the Clone’s mind is blank save for the buzz of her implants. She manages a nod towards the crowd, then leaves the stage. Over the next few hours she pours over more interviews with Shepard, trying her best to emulate her voice and mannerisms, even practicing in the mirror.

It’s dinner when the Clone makes her way to the mess hall. Alliance commanders often debrief with their officers. If the Clone’s their commander, shouldn’t she? The clone grabs a tray of cooked rations from the kitchen, and stops by the nearest table with an open seat.Those talking immediately shut up as she pulls out the chair. 

“Evening. Settling in alright?” Her words feel stiff and formal as they slide out her mouth. 

The men at the table don’t say anything, though they share glances with one another. 

Swallowing a bite of the cooked rations, the Clone tries another question. “Where are you all from?”

Instead of answering, the men push their chairs back and stand, taking their trays with them. They head for another table. 

“Hey! I asked you a question.” The Clone stands, following, her food left behind. 

Finally, one of them turns and looks at her, eyeing her up and down. “You might look kinda like her, but you’re no Commander Shepard.”

The guy next to him snorts. “Yeah. You can’t make a hero in a test tube.”

Taking deep breaths, the Clone clenches her fists. 

“Yeah. It’s just a bunch of tissue thrown--”

It’s kind of poetic the way he goes flying through the air. 

* * *

 

“I’m leaving.” The Clone storms out of the room, grabbing her backpack filled with all she owns–which doesn’t amount to much.

Maya leans against the door frame, watching– _ always _ watching. “Where exactly are you going?”

“Anywhere but here!” She spins on her heels, stopping inches from Maya’s face. “Anywhere away from  _ you _ .” 

Maya frowns, as if this announcement is only a small distraction, and not an actual obstacle to her objective. It’s what the Clone loves and hates about her most. “Mind telling me what this is about?” 

She should leave right then and there, but she stands still, angrily ignoring the tears in her eyes. 

“What’s my name?”

“Your name will be Jane–” Brooks launches into her usual answer. The Clone interrupts her.

“No. What’s  _ my _ name. What’s my name  _ now _ ?” She steps closer, her nose bumping into Maya’s. Her finger points at Maya’s chest. 

Brook’s mouth opens, but no answer falls out. 

The Clone shoves her against the wall. “Exactly. You don’t even think of me as a person, do you? I’m just another one of your marks.”

“That’s not true.” Maya shoves back, but only enough to keep the Clone off her. “Who saved you from Cerberus? Who woke you up?”

Both of them know the answers, so the Clone ignores the questions. “Hope Lillium isn’t even your real name!”

Brooks snorts. “Of course not. I rarely keep a name for more than a few days.” Her gaze holds the Clone steady. “A good name is a disposable one.” As if her anger amounts to little more than a childhood tantrum. “Is that what this is about? A name?”

“No.” The Clone fumes, but she doesn’t charge or run away. 

Taking a step toward her, Maya reads her up and down. “You think you don’t matter to me?” Her hand cups the Clone’s cheek. 

A few months ago, such a gesture would have crumbled her. Now the Clone knows better. “ Take your heart and lock it away, and no one, and no thing can ever hurt you again.” 

Maya smiles, sliding her thumb across the Clone’s cheek. “Now you’re catching on.” She leans her face closer, turning her face so their noses don’t collide, and  _ god damnit  _ the Clone’s heart is hammering inside her chest. 

If Dreya’s kisses filled the Clone with the light of the sun, Maya’s pull her closer with the strength of a black hole. The Clone kisses back, falling into her orbit. 


	14. Binary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is 100% smut. For the non-explicit (albeit choppy) version, head over to my account on FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/~forlornmelody

They make contact like binary stars, pulling at each other until no outer layers remain. Maya pulls the Clone close, running her hand up the back of her shirt, grabbing the clasps on her bra and her knuckles dragging up her spine. Her pull is almost too much, but it sets the Clone on fire. She kisses back in kind, ravishing her mouth, grasping the hard edges and curves that a life as a Cerberus agent has bought her. The Clone feels the power, the danger in those muscles, and it makes her heart race.

Breaking for air, Maya studies her face, running her index finger down the Clone’s cheek. “You look so much like her.” She says quietly.

The Clone sees her eyes dilated with need. She can’t help but smirk. “Didn’t realize you wanted to kill her _and_ fuck her.”

Maya grips her arm, her nails digging into her skin. “Just kiss me already.”

“Aye aye, Ms. Brooks.” The Clone explores her mouth, shivering as she imagines tasting other places, and being tasted in turn. Part of her can’t believe this is happening, after so many months of picturing what it would be like. She runs a hand down Maya’s chest, reminding herself that it’s real, not some feverish dream in the shower, or a frustrated night in the sheets after Brooks has fallen asleep.

Maya’s lips trail down her chin, sucking the skin where her jaw meets her ear, and the Clone can’t help but gasp at the sensation. This makes Maya smile, and she lets the Clone feel her teeth grazing her skin. She moans, unfastening Maya’s jacket as fast as her fumbling fingers can.

“Didn’t realize you wanted to kill me _and_ fuck me.” Maya repeats her words back to her with a laugh, and the Clone seals her mouth with hers, pressing her against the wall. Grabbing the back of the Clone’s buzzed head, Maya tilts her head back, finding that spot that makes her sing, again. With the Clone distracted, she spins them around, pushing the Clone into the wall, and her thigh between hers.

The Clone swallows, meeting Maya’s eyes as their ragged breaths intermingle between them.

Leaning closer, so that their noses touch, Maya asks, “How badly do you want this?” She grabs the Clone’s hips, grinding against one of her thighs. The friction feels oh so good, but the angle is just shy of what could be.

“Mm, right now? More than anything.” The Clone goes to kiss her again, but Maya pushes her head back, her shoulders down.

“Then get on the floor, now.”

* * *

 

Doing as she’s told, the Clone glances up at Maya, waiting for her to follow. She doesn’t. Then it clicks, and goosebumps cover her skin. The Clone sits up, getting on her knees, and works on undoing the bottom half of Maya’s fatigues. Pulling them down and off Maya’s ankles, the Clone lefts one of her legs, and drapes it over her shoulder. Grinning up at Maya, the Clone brings her mouth between her legs.

Maya doesn’t make a sound, but she grips the back of the Clone’s head, so she takes that as a encouraging sign. She presses in, tracing the lines of Maya’s folds, more exploring than anything. The taste is different than Dreya’s, more savory than sweet, yet lacking that tang of the omnipresent eezo found everywhere in Asari space. Still, the Clone shivers, realizing how much she missed this, making the legs of her partner quake with need.

The Clone finds Maya’s clit with the tip of her tongue, trying various patterns until she finds one Maya likes. It’s harder to tell from down here, but it seems like Maya is stifling her own moans, and the Clone wonders why. She gives Maya an encouraging squeeze, tracing the edge of her vagina with her finger as she sucks on her clit. How she missed losing herself in another person. Maya’s hand crashes the Clone’s head against her core, and the Clone smiles, letting herself be guided through her partner’s release.

Just when she’s about to continue, Maya pulls her away, sinking down beside her breathlessly. She kisses the Clone, licking and biting her own juices off her skin as she slides a hand down the Clone’s chest. Her hand slips beneath the front of her waistband, and Maya smirks when she finds her desperately wet. The Clone muffles her own cries against Maya’s shoulders as her fingers work against her folds. They play her like a instrument, and her blood sings with their music. Holding Maya’s shoulders for dear life, the Clone gasps into her release.

“You’re really good at that.” The Clone manages to murmur against her skin.

Maya snorts. “I’ve had a lot of practice.”

The Clone stands, pulling Maya with her. “Show me.”

In their bed, Maya shows her exactly that.

* * *

 

After, the Clone rolls over breathing in the warmth and their mingled scents like it’s ambrosia. She reaches to trace the lines of Maya’s arms, to find her partner already sitting up. The Clone looks up in time to see Maya grab a fresh set of clothes, and the kit necessary for a sponge bath. (No working showers in the facility, at least not yet.)

She rolls over onto the spot still warm from Maya’s body. Nestling into that warmth, the Clone runs her hand along the sheets, her mind still caught in their moments together, her lips still swollen from their feverish kisses. Somehow, her heart is far away. Maybe, just maybe, the Clone is finally becoming what she’s meant to be.

 


	15. Chemical High

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much angst in this chapter. Sorry/not sorry.

The next few days they spend training with the crew, going over tactics and maneuvers, and then they head upstairs while the mercenaries head to the barracks. The next few nights pass in similar fashion–Maya and the Clone have their fun, and Maya goes to take a shower and then heads to the couch to sleep by herself. It’s after several nights that the Clone decides to follow her into the shower.

Maya faces the wall, away from the door, reaching for her bottle of body wash, so she doesn’t notice the Clone until she slides a hand down her back. “Here, let me help.” The Clone grabs her loofah, holding it up so Maya can pour a little body wash on it.

Turning, Maya eyes her curiously, as if this whole scenario is a trap. “I thought you’d be in bed.”

Biting her lip, the Clone holds the sponge under the water, letting the soap turn into suds. “Kind of hard to go back to sleep after _that_.” It’s not completely a lie. She rubs the loofah across Maya’s shoulders.

“You know, this shower’s really not big enough for us to both bathe in it at the same time.”

Stepping closer, the Clone snorts. “Not the point, Maya.” She kisses the soap off her shoulder, running the loofah down her back.

Maya sighs softly, her hands sliding around the Clone’s back. “What’s this about?”

_Damnit._

She’s too nervous to spin her words like Maya does, so the Clone just blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. “Why do you fuck me then leave?”

This time, Maya sighs out of frustration. “I told you not to get your feelings involved.” She pulls back. “ _This_ is supposed to be _fun_.”

“It _is_ fun.” The Clone sighs too, putting the loofah aside. “It’s just…”

Maya grips her chin, forcing her to meet her eyes. “You think you’re in love with me.”

The Clone opens her mouth to protest, but it’s a lie and she’s terrible at lying, and they both know it.

At first Maya softens. Reaching out, she brushing her thumb along the Clone’s cheek. She leans into that hand, feeling an ache forming inside her chest. Then she reaches out too, wanting to touch Maya’s lips, her cheeks, her shoulders, and other places. The thought makes her blush.

Maya’s eyes looks past her own, as if she sees right through her. “Love is a lie people tell themselves to hide their own weakness.” Her thumb and fingers slide down, gripping her chin. “Warm feelings are nothing more than synapses firing in the brain—a chemical high.” Her heart races as Maya leans closer; she can feel Maya’s breath on her lips. “Love is desire with lipstick,” Maya whispers in a low voice that made the Clone’s stomach curl, brushing her lips against her own, “and sex is the most powerful drug in the galaxy.”

If it’s a drug, then the Clone knows she’s an addict, and she doesn’t want an intervention. She doesn’t want to be sober, _ever_. “You make it sound so...clinical. What’s wrong with enjoying it?”

“I _am_ enjoying it.” Maya slides the Clone’s hand down between her legs to illustrate her point. “I’m just not stupid enough to get my feelings involved.”

“You’re telling me you feel _nothing_ when we do this.” The Clone kisses her with every fiber of her being, tracing her curves from her shoulders to her waist.

“Of course,” Maya answers her between wet kisses, “I feel,” drinking her in along with the water “endorphins.” She pushes the Clone’s head away, breathing raggedly. “But I don’t mistake them for anything else.”

“I don’t believe you.” The Clone pulls away, reaching for the door.

Maya wraps her arms around the Clone, nuzzling her shoulder. “You know it’s the truth. You just don’t want to believe it.” Her lips graze the back of the Clone’s neck, and she whispers “Now, are you going to go pout? Or are you going to stay here and enjoy yourself?”

It’s hard to say no when Maya’s kissing her like that. The Clone decides to stay. There is nothing wrong with enjoying herself, is there? Even if she wants more. Too much is at stake for her to go looking elsewhere, and besides, people aren’t static. If the Clone can grow so much in a year, why not the woman she lo--cares for?


	16. Champagne

They are _so_ close. Maya Brooks and the Clone have spent the past weeks training the mercs, training _with_ the mercs, and they’re ready. Over meals, the Clone and Brooks go over plans, strategies, potential obstacles and ways to work around them. Together they review Commander Jane Shepard’s history, her interviews, unauthorized biographies of her life, even security footage they’ve intercepted from C Sec. Shepard is a difficult woman to catch off guard. She’s never seen off ship without full armor and a squad to back her up--save for two places.  The _Normandy_ they eliminate immediately--it would take too long to override the ship’s AI, and with Shepard and her crew on board, it would cost them more than time. However, when the _Normandy_ docks at the Citadel, the crew parts ways, some to a few hours of shore leave, others for their non-Council duties, Alliance or no. In these hours, Shepard often heads off by herself, making a laughably predictable circuit of the Embassies, the Presidium, the docks, and the refugee camps, even a dance club called Purgatory. Now it’s only a matter of being ready the next time she stops by.

With the losses on Thessia, Shepard must be heading to the Citadel soon. She’ll have diplomatic meetings, hoards of refugees to visit (since she banned C-Sec from turning them away), and likely strong drinks to buy with her favorite Asari warlord. Brooks and the Clone deploy pockets of mercs to infiltrate the wards, some posing as refugees, others as off-duty soldiers, still others as private residents. With the recent coup, Cat6 has plenty of identities and weaknesses to exploit.

“So...what’s our next step?” The Clone leans her chin on Maya’s shoulder, getting on her tiptoes to do so.

Maya leans her head against the Clone’s. “I need to meet with a contact on the Citadel. We’ll need someone to smuggle in our arms if we have any chance of making it through security.”

“And then we arrive and wait for Shepard.”

“Mmhm.” Maya turns, running a finger up and down the Clone’s arm. It makes her shiver, but the Clone presses on.

“How are you going to signal?”

Brooks scrunches up her nose. “Through your omni-tool, of course. An encrypted message.”

The Clone fingers Brook’s collar. “How long should I wait before sending reinforcements?”

“You mean if I fail?” Maya snorts. “That won’t happen.”

 

* * *

 

That night the Clone had some of the mercs smuggle in a bottle of champagne (more like she seized _their_ bottle of champagne upon entry, but they’re in her employ, so she feels she has a right to it), and she pops it open over dinner with Maya. Their rations are still barely edible, and they’re drinking out of regular glasses, but this is as close as they can get to a celebratory dinner, then she’ll take it. She even finds a couple emergency candle sticks for when the backup generators fail, and she lights them, using machine parts for holders.

“What’s all this?” Maya sits down, datapad still in hand.

Reaching over, the Clone grabs the datapad, and turns it off. “Things are going to get pretty crazy once we reach the Citadel.” She leans forward, pouring the champagne. “This might be our last chance to celebrate.”

Maya’s smile glimmers in the low light. “Funny, I had the same idea.”

The Clone blinks, watching as Maya pulls out a slim black box. A gold ribbon ties the layers together, the Clone fingers the bow, glancing at Maya.

“Go ahead. It’s a gift.”

Pulling the ribbon as if she’s disarming a bomb, the Clone gingerly lays it aside, lifting the top to reveal the contents inside. She gasps softly as the metallic sheen of a shotgun catches the candle light. She swallows, delicately taking it out of the box.

“It’s the M-11 Wraith--the same shotgun--”

“Shepard uses, I know.” The Clone interrupts softly, standing so she can test its feel in her hands. She pops open the ammunition chamber, running her finger over the ammunition block, closes it, then checks the next chamber for heat clips. She only finds two in the filled chamber. “Ballsy, giving me a loaded gun.” It’s a gun so deadly it’s banned in Citadel space, but that doesn’t stop mercs, pirates, and the infamous Commander herself from using it.

Maya smirks. “I know you’re not stupid enough to use it _now_.” It’s not quite trust, but it will do. “There’s more underneath.” Is she shifting in her chair? Brooks never squirms.

The Clone sets the gun down, lifting the next layer of the box and setting it aside. She eyes the last object in the box, quirking an eyebrow at the woman across from her. “You bought me a fake penis?”

Laughing softly, Maya reaches over, taking the Clone’s hand. “I know it’s been hard for you lately.” Her thumb brushes the back of her hand. “I wanted to show you how I appreciate the woman you’re becoming.”

“By buying me a dick.” The Clone laughs too, but she swallows at Maya’s touch. She knows where that touch leads, regardless of the awkwardness.

“You might like it.” Maya picks it up, managing to thrust it through a ring she makes with her finger and thumb.

They break down in fits of giggles together. The Clone squeezes her hand. “Thanks, I think.” As weird as it is it to get a gift from Maya, maybe it’s a good sign. Maybe she’s becoming a different person, too.

“It’s not the same as Asari biotics but it does vibrate.”

The Clone freezes, her gaze cold and hard as she says “Don’t.”

“I know.” Maya squeezes her hand. “I’m just trying to help.” She stands, heading for their bedroom alone. The Clone stares at the dildo for several minutes, and then she throws it back into the box, slamming the lid closed.


	17. Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter. Plot heavy chapters are always more difficult for me to write, and I'm a huge stickler for accuracy. In this instance, I'm just not much of an expert on these things, so I tried to include as much truth as I could while sticking to the truth of the story. In other words, I just kind of gave up on being super truthful to the situation. Hopefully it doesn't detract from the story too much.

It’s been twelve hours, and the Clone hasn’t heard a single word from Brooks. She paces floor of the warehouse, knowing her partner went dark for good reason, but she still feels antsy. Negotiations shouldn’t keep Brooks this long, at least not out of contact. Should it matter? This could be the Clone’s chance to start her own life, but she also remembers what happened the last time she abandoned the plan. Going out on her own, with no one at her side? Sounds like hell. And she can’t leave things between them like they ended last night. What they have isn’t love, but whatever it is, the Clone doesn’t want to lose it.

At thirteen hours, the Clone calls the mercs to attention. They assemble on the floor, but they fail to quiet. First the Clone clears her throat. Then she shouts. Finally, when that fails to shut them up, she throws the nearest man into a singularity.

A hush falls over the room, as the mercs gape at not only her behavior, but her power. The Clone drops the man without paying attention to whether he breaks one bone, or five. “Now that I have your attention,” she pulls up an image of Brooks, casting it to the screen behind her, “Maya Brooks has not reported for duty for over twelve hours.” Swiping to a schematics map of the Citadel, she adds, “Your mission will be to find her, and bring her back, alive.”

One woman calls out from a few rows back, “How--”

The Clone raises a glowing hand.

“--Ma’am, how do we know she hasn’t gone rogue?” The woman shifts on her feet nervously. “She’s did it to Cerberus, didn’t she?” A fair notion. A notion the Clone does not entertain.

“Cerberus no longer aligned with her objective.”

Another merc calls out, “And we do? Ma’am?”

Doubt stabs the Clone in the gut. She ignores it. Maya wouldn’t go to all this trouble only to abandon them, would she? “Maya Brooks has one goal, and only one goal. To save humanity, at any cost.” The Clone highlights one of the overrun docks. “Hatchet will enter here.” She circles another. “Dagger here.” Making eye contact with the three mercs standing closest to the stage, she adds. “Razor Squad, you’re with me.”

* * *

 

Since they can’t smuggle in weapons without Brooks, the Clone has the mercs infiltrate the wards, armed only with omni-tools. She has the secondary squads cause a ruckus on the docs while Razor infiltrates Citadel-Security. Donning a wig and contacts, the Clone borrows one of Maya’s old identities: Captain Channing. It’s a risk, using one of her old names, but in this case, the risk might be exactly what she needs. Hacking into one of the terminals, the Clone grants Channing access to the room with the camera feeds, and she posts Razor in what she hopes are discreet positions outside the door.

Narrowing her search to the day and place Brooks arrived, the Clone speeds up the video until the moment Brooks takes a sky car from the docks. She trails the license plate and finds its flight path with that time signature, and follows it to a warehouse in the Zakera ward, one that has been out of use since 2185. Brooks leaves the car at the terminal, and heads inside. From their countless meetings over meals, the Clone knows the background, appearance, and personality of the contact Brooks intended to meet with--the person inside the warehouse isn’t them. A cold feeling settles in the Clone’s stomach. Someone set Brooks up.

“You’re not Jax.” Brooks reaches for her pistol, but it’s already too late.

“No. I’m not.”

The Clone watches in horror as the Asari, likely a commando from the way she uses her biotics, catches Brooks in a singularity and then reaves her until she’s unconscious. Swallowing hard, she speeds the video up again, watching as the mercs quickly tie her to a chair, and begin what looks like an interrogation. As awful as it is to watch, the Clone is relieved to know that the mercs want her alive. What for, she has no idea.

Using one of Brook’s credit lines, the Clone rents a sky car, and takes it to the warehouse with her squad. On the way, she summons Dagger squad to watch the perimeter, and has Hatchett watch their escape route in case more trouble shows up. The Clone stages two men from Dagger at the windows on the sides of the warehouse, ready to launch omni drones. She has Razor equip their omni blades.

One of the mercs from Dagger returns with schematics on the warehouse. While there is only one door, there are windows lining the sides. “Take out the windows in the back in 5 minutes. I’ll keep them busy.”

“Signal, Commander?”

It does thrill the Clone to hear that title. Maybe it suits her. “I’ll cough twice. How many?”

“They’re all inside. Half a dozen, Ma’am. Three are posted in the rear of the warehouse. The rest are around Brooks.”

_Is Maya alright?_ The Clone wants to say, but she knows better. “Is Brooks alive?”

“Affirmative.”

“Deal with the ones in the back as you come in. Wait for my signal on the others. I only need one of them alive.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Dismissed.”

The Clone walks up to the door, and finds it unlocked. She knocks three times, and steps inside, letting Razor file in behind, blades aimed in front of them.

Brooks sits in a chair, still bound. Her nose is purple and dried blood trails down to her lip. She has other bruises on her head. As the Clone and her squad come in, Brooks’ eyes widen and she lifts her head. The Clone nods at her, and then looks at the kidnappers, mercs, probably, by the quality of their armor and the banned weapons in their hands. C-Sec really needs to step up its game. An Asari leads them, vanguard, by the amount of armor she’s wearing, and their leader, by the way the other kidnappers keep looking at her for direction.

The Asari aims her gun at the Clone, smirking.  “Put your weapon down, or I’ll shoot.”

The Clone’s hands glow with biotic energy. “Go ahead. I’ll fry you before you have a chance to re-target. What do you want?”

Raising an eyebrow, the Asari snorts. “A human biotic against an Asari Commando? Please.”

Racking her brain, the Clone throws out the first thing that comes to mind. “Nessa Tandros.” She’s not sure if it’s her or the implants doing the talking. “She runs a training facility in New Serrice. Heard of her?”

The commando’s eyes widen, and she pulls her finger off the trigger. Swinging the barrel of the gun away from the Clone, the Asari holds it up her other arm. “We got what we wanted.” Her goons do the same.

She’s stalling. Why? The implants flare up. Maya mouths at her, _trap._

“You’re mercs, right?” Who hired you? The Clone lowers her hands. She can still use her biotics if she needs to. So can the Asari.

“You’ll find out soon enough. He’s on his way.” Shit.

Maya’s not sweating, must be dehydrated. Not good. The Clone sees her shoulders shifting--she must be hacking her own cuffs.

Over Maya’s shoulder, Dagger creeps up behind her and her kidnappers.

“Oh? How soon?” She does her best to keep her voice level, though the implants are blaring inside her skull _DANGER DANGER DANGER._ The Clone watches Dagger through her peripheral vision, counting beats in her head.

“Don’t worry. He won’t keep you waiting.”

Maya’s eyes narrow in recognition, and then she looks up at the Clone.

One breath. Two breaths. Three.

The Clone coughs twice, and biotically pulls the gun out of the commando’s hands, just as the mercs jerk in tandem, watching omniblades pierce their midsections. Brooks overloads the Asari’s shields and the Clone slams her to the ground, and fires the gun, making sure the commando stays there. She feels her amp heat up as she pushes her biotics to their limits, and she wills the energy to keep going, cooldown periods be damned.

With all the other mercs killed or disabled, the Clone walks over to their leader. The Asari commando’s shields are damaged beyond repair, and they crack and sizzle as they try to regenerate. One of her feet has been shot, and she sits on the floor, laughing--shock, probably.

Stopping within spitting distance, the Clone holds up her hand, channeling the dark energy around her into a reave. It only serves to make the commando laugh louder. The Clone shouts over her. “Who hired you?”

The Asari looks up at her gun, and she smiles. “We all know Shepard wouldn’t kill me.”

The Clone’s finger stays on the trigger, but she doesn’t pull. “She’d have you arrested, wouldn’t she?”

The Asari stars to nod. The Clone shoots her point blank. “I’m not Shepard.” She stays there, with her gun hanging at her side, watching numbly as the blood spurts from where the head used to be. Miasma fills her nostrils, and the Clone distantly realizes this is her first kill.  A person died at her hand. Shaking, the Clone’s thoughts run in a loop. _She’s dead. I killed her. She’s dead. I killed her. She’s dead--_

A hand lands on her shoulder and the Clone nearly launches the owner of that hand across the room. “You’re right.” The hand belongs to Brooks. The Clone deflates, and she feels tears forming in her eyes. But she doesn’t feel anything behind that wetness. Maybe she really isn’t human after all. “You’re not Shepard.” Maya turns her, pulling her into a hard kiss, marking herself with the blood spatter on the Clone’s lips. “You’re better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already asked one of you about this, but what are your thoughts on the upcoming Citadel DLC events? Would you rather I skip to the end and show the aftermath, or would you like a retelling of the DLC from the Clone's perspective? Lemme know. :)


	18. Rational Vs. Emotional

On the shuttle, the Clone realizes some of the blood on Brooks is Brook’s _own_ blood--especially after the ebony woman deflates in her chair. Fuck fuck _fuck_. Had she been bleeding this whole time?

“Commander?”

The Clone is too busy wracking her own brain for first aid. Her implants, again, prove unhelpful. She starts an extranet search on her omni tool, pulling up the first result--

“Ma’am?”

_“What_!”

The merc slams into the wall, making a small noise as the wind is knocked out of her. She winces, taking several seconds to get her breath back. “We uh, we found out who hired the commandos.”

The Clone kneels in front of Maya, applying medi gel generously. Probably a little too generously. Maya smiles at her lazily, her eyes glazing over. _Shit. Fucking hell._ English words don’t serve well enough, so the Clone swears under her breath in old Asari--some words Dreya taught her for shits and giggles. “Find them and eliminate them.”

“It’s Kai Leng, ma’am.”

Maya sucks in a sharp breath, and her eyes focus.

“I don’t know who that--”

Maya snarls. “It’s The Illusive Man’s second in command, now that Lawson has defected.” She hisses as the wound starts to re-open.

“Shut up.” The Clone presses the medi-gel patch tighter against the wound, trying to stay calm. Her implants supply information on Leng and his recent exploits. “Thought he was busy with Shepard.”

“That’s why he hired outside help.” Maya manages to say between shallow breaths. “Cocky bastard usually does his own dirty work.”

“I told you to _shut. Up._ ”

Maya hums. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

The Clone rolls her eyes. “You’re delirious.” She turns to the pilot. “How long until we get back to base?”

“We’re rendezvousing with the ship in 10 minutes. 10 Galactic Standard Hours from there, ma’am.” The pilot looks over his shoulder briefly between typing in commands.

Most space vessels have medical bays. The Clone sags with relief, and then realizes how long ten hours can be when the woman you lo--care about is bleeding out all over you. They really should have kept a doctor. Then again…

Turning to Dagger squad, the Clone nods. “Get me a doc out of one of the med clinics.. Someone who just got off their shift.”

“Yes ma’am.”

 

* * *

 

“You can’t keep me here!” The doctor currently sits in a chair, with three guns trained on him. ‘Sitting’ might be the wrong word. He’s squirming and shaking. Honestly, the Clone is surprised the doctor hasn’t pissed his pants.

“What was your name, Doctor?”

“Graham Johansson.” A bead of sweat slips down his forehead.

“Well, Doctor Johansson, we _don’t_ plan on keeping you here any longer than necessary.” The Clone steps aside, revealing Maya, now unconscious, on a gurney. “Whether you leave here on your feet or in a body bag is up to you.” She really hopes the doctor takes the first option. Her ears are still ringing from—from the last gunshot she made.

Doctor Johansson stares at the gurney, or perhaps through it. The Clone kicks his ankle. He stumbles towards Maya, stuttering. “I’ll need--”

“These are yours, are they not?” The Clone nods at one of her mercs, and he hands the doctor a large bag.

Johansson nods.

“Then get to work. If she dies. You die. Got it?”

“Y-yes.”

“I’ll leave a couple of my men here to keep you company. See you soon.”

 

* * *

 

Later, when Brooks has stabilized, the Clone has the mercs escort the doctor to the restroom, then holding. She sits down beside the bed, watching Maya breathe in and out. The color is coming back to her face, slowly, but surely, and her breaths seem less shallow. Now she just needs time. Idly, the Clone wonders how much time they have left.

Maya shifts and her eyes open as she yawns. She lazily eyes the Clone. Half smiling, she mumbles, “You’re always watching me sleep.”

The words tumble out of her mouth, warmer than usual. _Medigel,_ the Clone realizes. It must not have worn off yet. “I’m not doing this without you.”

Nudging herself to the edge of the cot, Maya pats the empty space next to her. “You could do it without me, you know.”

The Clone shakes her head, gently maneuvering Maya to the front of the cot, and sliding in behind her, so that her partner’s back is resting on her chest. “What makes you say that?” She wonders how much of this Maya will remember later.

Maya leans her head back, nuzzling the Clone’s nose with her own, and she feels her heart skip a beat or two. “You’re stronger than her. More capable. More determined.”

Winding her fingers between Maya’s, the Clone chuckles. “For someone high on medigel, you sure give a good speech.”

Squeezing her hand weakly, Maya argues, “I mean it.” Her eyes, still a little glassy, search the Clone’s. “Sometimes I wonder why you keep me around.”

Something dark and cold pools in the Clone’s stomach. She knows this is dangerous territory, because she’s been here before. Even delirious, Maya can probably see through her best lie. “You mean something to me, Maya.” The Clone swallows hard. “Despite everything.”

Maya’s gaze drifts across the room, as she traces the Clone’s hand with her thumb. “Sometimes I wonder what it’s like.”

“What?” The Clone watches her, letting her fingers skim the exposed part of Maya’s thigh.

“Caring about someone else. Liking them. Loving them, even.” She frowns comically, as if faced with a mathematical formula she can’t solve. “What you had with Dreya--that was real, wasn’t it?”

Shifting in the cot, the Clone answers quietly. “I think so.”

“At Cerberus, we had psychological training--how to determine the strategy of your enemy by identifying their wants and needs. I always struggled with that.” She leans her head against the Clone’s. “I lied my way through those evaluations, using logic and reason to pull myself through.” She sounds almost angry as she says it. “But humans aren’t rational creatures, are they?”

The Clone presses her lips into Maya’s hair. “I doubt most sentient beings are.”

Maya sits up sluggishly, so that their lips are centimeters from each other, “Are you?”

“Emotional? Empathetic?” Biting her lip, the Clone leans in for a kiss. “More than you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the feedback is in. People really want to see the Citadel DLC from the Clone's perspective. I think we'll see that happen after a chapter or so. THE END IS NIGH.


	19. Armor

_Bet you she hasn’t even told you her real name._

The message arrived in her omni tool late the night before, and the Clone tossed and turned for hours over it. For someone so high on the Cerberus food chain, Kai Leng sure can’t keep top-secret information to himself. Maybe the Illusive Man is losing his touch, if he can’t keep his personal lap-dog in line. No wonder Maya left.

But Maya isn’t her real name, is it? The Clone knew that already, knew ‘Maya Brooks’ is just another identity her partner forged to protect herself, protect both of them, really. For an arrogant idiot, Leng sure knows how to push her buttons.

 _I sent those mercs after her. Planned to have her sliced and diced in front of you, see what sort of reaction they’d get. Maybe you_ are _more than spare parts._

The Clone is tired. Not just exhausted, _weary_ , of being pulled in every direction. But she can’t help but entertain Leng’s offer.

_Call me and I’ll tell you the truth. Won’t matter in the long run, anyway. Once Cerberus gets what it wants you’ll all be thrown in the vats._

He left an IP address. The Clone deleted the message, but it’s already imprinted on her brain, along with the numbers. She waits until Maya leaves her alone to put on her armor, and then she makes the call, using a scrambler to mask her camera like a one-way mirror.

At least partially Asian features sneer back at her, though his eyes are concealed by a mask. Cerberus tech, probably, though the Clone isn’t sure of the purpose beyond making him look like some comic book super villian. “Bout time you called me.”

“You have 60 seconds.” Maybe longer, if she can back trace the call.

“What is the name she’s using now? Brooks?” How would he know? Fear seizes her veins, and then the Clone remembers that the mercs would have likely passed on that information when they intercepted Maya. The Clone does her best to keep her face level.

“Brooks was an old friend of hers. One she shot to death before taking her ship. Bet she didn’t tell you that.” Leng is trying to get a rise out of her, and the Clone deliberately takes slow breaths to not shout.

“Rasa is the earliest name we have on record. Best we can tell that was the name she had at birth.”

“What’s your point?”

“You _do_ realize she’s using you? That she’ll dispose of you like the rest when she’s done with you? You know it. She knows it. That’s why she won’t leave you alone.”

 Leng smirks. “Bet you had to steal a moment by yourself to make this call, didn’t you? Nice armor, by the way.”

The Clone’s eyes widen before she can stop herself.

“Yeah. Don’t worry. We already have people on the inside. We already know your plan--and that you’ll fail.”

The Clone manages to snort. “You’re not even worth my time.” She disconnects the call. _Asshole._

“Who were you talking to?” Maya steps up behind the Clone, eyeing them both in the reflection, as she wraps her arms around her.

“No one.” The Clone lays her hands on top of Maya’s...Rasa’s….She’s starting to get a headache. “I was...rehearsing. For when we take down Shepard.”

Maya leans her head against hers. “For when you take down the _Cult_ of Shepard.” Her fingers fiddle with the ends of the Clone’s hair, brushing the baby smooth skin of the Clone’s jaw with her knuckles. “But that will come later.” She smirks into the mirror. “Right now, I need to peel this armor off of you piece by piece.”

* * *

 

The Clone laughs, turning to face her. “This is a fantasy of yours, isn’t it?”

“What?” Maya’s eyes shift ever so slightly. Oh, what a time to be right.

Biting a grin, the Clone quirks her head to the side. “You want to fuck Shepard.” She steps around Maya, circling her like a hunter around its prey. Something about wearing this armor--it does things to her. The Clone decides she likes it. “Or do you want to be _fucked by Shepard?”_

Maya’s breath hitches at the last part. All the work the Clone’s done to read body language and learn social behavior, hones her perception to the highest degree, and she wields it like a weapon. The Clone stops behind Maya, whispering into her ear, “How do you want it, Brooks?”

Despite the goose bumps down her arms, and the quiver in her stance, Maya knows how to maintain control. She whispers back. “How do you think Shepard would fuck me?”

The Clone hesitates, having a pretty good idea of how it would go down. She’s seen enough porno vids on the Extranet. “Maya….”

Maya glares at their reflection. “Do it.”

“You have to say it.” The Clone reaches deep within herself, and what she finds frightens her--it  also thrills her. Her grip tightens on Maya’s arm. “ _Say it._ ”

“Fuck me, Shepard.” Maya holds her gaze on the mirror.

The Clone hisses. “Commander.”

Maya melts, wobbling a little as she answers. “Fuck me, Commander.”

“Fuck you, how?”

Swallowing once, Maya answers, “Hard.”

The Clone shoves Maya face-first against the mirror--hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to crack the glass. “You’re sick.” She hisses into Maya’s ear, biting her earlobe just hard enough to make her fingers clench. “What sort of freak wants their enemy to ride them until they scream?”

“Mm...I..I don’t know.” Maya’s... _Rasa’s_ lips are parted, steaming up the mirror in small puffs as she breathes.

“You do.” The Clone kisses down her neck, biting and tasting her in turn. “Say it.”

Rasa swallows hard, her fingers grasping for purchase and finding nothing but the unyielding glass. “Say what?”

“Say ‘I’m sick.’” Rasa starts to hesitate, so the Clone squeezes her hips. “ _Say it_.”

“I’m sick. I want you…”

“No you don’t. You want Shepard.” ….Maybe that was a little too honest. The Clone shakes it off, trying to stay in character. “You want her to fuck you until you’re begging for mercy.”

“Please.”

“If you insist.” The Clone allows Rasa to turn around, unzipping her jacket, slipping her hand inside to tease one of her nipples. Pulling the zipper down further, she takes the opportunity to taste the other breast, grazing her teeth across the surface.

“Oh, oh god.” Rasa gasps, her fingers sliding across the mirror, failing to find purchase.

The Clone smirks into her skin, switching sides. Somewhere in the midst of it she manages to murmur “You like that, don’t you.”

“Mmhm.” Rasa’s breaths are getting heavier, and she fans her fingers into the Clone’s hair.

Unzipping Rasa’s pants, she considers going down on her, but that doesn’t fit the role either. Claiming Rasa’s lips, the Clone wonders if she’s always playing a role with her. Tugging and biting on Rasa’s bottom lip, she lets her fingers hover just outside her underwear. “Tell me how badly you want it.”

Maya nibbles her ear, breathing raggedly. “You want me to beg?”

The Clone manages to snarl. “Yes, I want you to beg for it.” She starts to pull her hand away.

Her partner scrambles for her hand. The Clone uses her biotics to pin Maya’s arms against the mirror. It takes quite a bit of concentration not to break the mirror, but she manages. Maya bites her lip, her eyes wide and dark with want and surprise.

“You have to _ask_ , Maya.” The Clone smirks. “With your words.”

Maya swallows hard, then manages to say. “Fuck me.”

The Clone quirks her head. “Fuck me…?”

“ _Please.”_

“Good girl.” The Clone slips her fingers inside Maya’s underwear, finding her soaking. She almost moans at the sensation, but she swallows it down. This isn’t about her. Her fingers slip and slide against Maya so easily, the Clone has to stifle her groan against Maya’s shoulder.

“Harder.” Maya’s head bumps against the mirror as she tilts her head back.

 The Clone complies, and she slips one finger inside, then two. She shivers, twisting and pulling, and pushing, savoring the hot velvet of Maya’s inner walls. Just as Maya starts to come, the Clone pulls out.

“No wait. I’m so close.” Maya reaches for her, and the Clone dodges out of her reach.

“No.” She says firmly. “Now hold still and close your eyes.” The Clone waits until Maya complies, walking over to their bed in the next room, and finding the box from the other night. Wrapping Maya’s fingers around the dildo, she whispers into her ear. “Do you want this?”

Maya whimpers instead of answering.

The Clone squeezes Maya’s fingers around it. “Words, Maya.” She snorts. “Or I take it away.”

“No.” Maya squirms. “Yes. Please. I want it.”

The Clone bites her ear lobe. “Want what?”

“I want the dildo inside me.”

“If you insist.” Taking the dildo from Maya’s hand, she guides it inside, biting her lip at how easily it sinks between her legs. The Clone pushes it gently with her fingers, letting gravity do the rest. She watches Maya’s face, feeling a little unsure of herself.

“I...mm. I want it rough.”

“Oh look. You’ve finally learned to talk.” She maneuvers, pounding harder and faster, until finally Maya moans louder and louder. The Clone muffles her with an open mouth kiss, feeling fire in her veins. Never has she seen Maya lose control like this. Is _this_ what Rasa is like underneath all the lies? Maya’s moans slowly turn to whimpers, and finally a hiss. _Then_ , the Clone pulls the dildo out, releasing her grip on the woman in front of her.

* * *

 

Maya slides to the floor, breathing heavily. “Where’d you learn that?”

The Clone digs around for a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. She ignores the question, popping the cork and plopping down next to Maya instead. Pouring them both a glass, she hands one to her partner. “How are we playing this?”

“Mm?”

“With Shepard.”

Maya leans her head against the Clone’s shoulder. It’s as sexy as the time they just spent together. “Mm...I was thinking of presenting myself as some sort of Alliance operative--trying to save her from the mercs wanting to kill her.”

“This’ll be good. Do I get to watch?”

Sipping her wine, Maya replies. “Only from the security cam.”

“I get access to the com channel.”

“Only if you keep quiet.”

“Fine.” The Clone also takes a sip. Maybe more than a sip. Who’s going to stop her?

They sit in silence, polishing off their glasses and filling them again, until the bottle’s empty. “Mm. I need a background.” Maya eyes the bed thoughtfully. “What’s my role in the Alliance?”

The Clone snorts. “Probably a desk-minder.”

“Oo. yeah.” Maya licks her lips, giggling. “Staff analyst or some bullshit like that.”

“Names her hacking program after her cat.”

Maya snorts. “Something ridiculous.”

The Clone intends to point to well, emphasize her point, but falls into Maya’s lap instead. “Mr. Biscuits!” The _s’s_ comes out slowly like a long, sluggish hiss.

“Oh god.” They both dissolve.

* * *

 

Much later in the night, after she’s passed in and out of slumber, the Clone finds a question lingering at the edges of her mind. “Maya?” She’s sobering now, enough for the question to bother her, but she’s still tipsy enough to find the courage to ask it. “Where will we be after this is all over?”

Maya stirs, not bothering to open her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“After we take out Shepard, and the Reapers, then what?”

Maya, Rasa, whoever she is, looks at the Clone finally, sitting up against the pillows, the sheet falling down to her stomach. “I’m sure the galaxy will still have plenty of wrongs to right.”

 

The Clone nods, but she isn’t reassured. “I know that. I mean... _us_. Are we still...going to be together?”

 

Rasa reaches over, pushing the Clone’s copper locks out of her face. “Of course.”

 

                                                                            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so close! Next chapter will cover at least some of the events of the Citadel DLC from the Clone's perspective. I reserve the right to skim over parts that might be boring on her end.


	20. Plans

They split off, each with half their company. Maya borrows a uniform from a low-ranking officer on shore leave, who just so happened to have a stupidly simple password on her locker rental. The Clone hacks both Lt. Cmdr Jane Shepard’s and Flight Lt. Jeff Moreau’s emails, planning a lunch at an exclusive sushi bar for both of them. Neither will be able to turn down such an offer from one of their closest friends. Cat6’s plan is simple: drive Shepard away from Joker, and into the surrounding ward, towards the skylot so they can get her spectre access code, and then finish her off. Posing as the manager for the apartments in that ward, the Clone contracts a construction company to install new heating and cooling units, and she pays them a stupidly high bonus to do it immediately.

Maya also sets up a meeting with infamous casino baron Elijah Kahn. He insists on meeting them both in person, so Brooks pulls up a scattered video on her omni tool once she sits down in his office.

Kahn frowns. “This isn’t what we agreed to, and you know it.”

“My employer has agreed to compensate you for the inconvenience.”

Khan stands. “I’m calling security. You can tell your “boss” that I’m not int--"

Brooks doesn’t stand. She merely looks up at him. “We’ll double our payment.”

The Clone is supposed to wait until Maya introducers her properly, but she can’t help put add, “You’re hosting a charity gala soon, aren’t you?”

Kahn’s hand hesitates as he reaches for his haptic interface. “What about it?”

“I bet you won’t have the best showing in the middle of the war.”

“I have a full house of confirmed guests.”

Maya shifts her gaze, picking up where the Clone left off. “But they won’t be opening up their credit accounts like they did three years ago, will they?”

“Silver Coast Charity Gala Washed Away By the Reaper Invasion--what a depressing headline.” The Clone smirks, but the scatter program masks it.

“Fine.” Kahn sits with a sigh. “What can I help you with?”

Maya lists off the guns, mechs, attack drones, even a few Atlases. Kahn’s eyes widen, and he names his price. They double it, as promised. It won’t matter that its far more credits than they possess. Once they have Shepard’s identity, they’ll just blow Kahn’s cover and have him arrested. If he so much as squeaks, they’ll have him die in prison--one freak accident or another.

* * *

 

The Clone stands in front of the men of Cat6, feeling like she’s still asleep in bed, in the midst of a fever dream. Maya stands by her side, wearing the stolen uniform, and her usual smirk. In just a few short hours, the Commander Jane Shepard’s title, rank, access codes, even her ship will belong to her Clone. All of them have worked so hard for this, and soon it will all pay off.

After a deep breath, the Clone faces her men and clears her throat. “Our mission is simple.”

The mercs stare back at her, their masks hiding their expressions.

“Brooks will infiltrate Ryuusei’s, posing as a staff analyst for the Alliance. She’ll warn Shepard of your plans to kill her and steal her identity so be ready for a fight.”

One of the men standing in the front coughs. “But the bouncers check guns at the door, don’t they?”

The Clone deliberately flares her biotics, and the merc steps back. “ _Don’t_  underestimate Shepard.”

Brooks nods. “We’re sending in a dozen of you. The bouncers will have to stand down.”

Folding her arms behind her back in a very Shepard-esque fashion, the Clone paces from one end of the line to the other. “You will force Shepard back towards the fish tank, and you will fire until she falls through. Shatter the damn thing until she goes falling into the ward. Brooks will guide her to Cision Motors, where Shepard will have to use her access code to override security.” The Clone turns to face them, the thrill of their plans finally becoming a reality racing down her spine. “Brooks will send a shuttle to pick Shepard up. You’ll be inside waiting to take her out.”

Another merc, this one standing towards the back. “But what will we do once we get inside the sushi place?”

The Clone glances at Maya, and smirks back at them. “Give them a good show.”


	21. Debut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. Here it is. Sorry for the delay, and I hope this is worth the wait.

Watching Shepard fall through the fish tank is more satisfying than sex. The Clone wishes she could see it in person, but she can hear Shepard scream through Maya’s comm, and the hacked security feed gives a passable visual. She sits in a shuttle, one that will follow the initial Trojan horse, in case the first teams of mercs can’t take out Shepard. The way Maya sets the Alliance poster girl up at the sky lot is also beautiful, placing her in the crosshairs between the mercs chasing her and the ones that will meet her there. Their plan is perfect--Shepard won’t see her coming--until the plan isn’t.

And who in the galaxy would expect Urdnot Wrex to show up? He’s supposed to be on Tuchanka, blowing up ruins or something, but no. Apparently he’s here to negotiate with the Council. The Clone swears darkly under her breath as she sees the first shuttle crash.

“Rasa.” She calls on Maya’s private channel.

“Who is this?” Maya’s using her staff analyst voice, and that hardly passable American accent. Shit. She must still be with Shepard’s pilot.

“I’m calling the other mercs off. We’ll have to take out Shepard at the Arch--”

“Whoever you are, Shepard is coming after you. I hope you know that.” God, that cover of hers is annoying. It takes the Clone a second to realize Maya’s trying to communicate without giving herself away. “Good _nigh--”_

Joker cuts in. “Wait! You should backtrace the c--”

“Oops.” The call cuts off.

The Clone can’t throw anyone inside against the walls of the shuttle without endangering all of them, so she screams.

 

* * *

 

Things only get worse from there. Just when the shuttle takes off for the Archives, the Clone gets a call from their dealer. Elijah Kahn is _not_ happy.

“I’m cutting you off. I’m returning your down payment _now_.”

No, no, _no_. The Clone can’t fail Maya like she did Dreya. She can’t allow this to happen. Not again. “What’s the problem?” She rubs her face, wishing she had packed some of that leftover champagne. No. The Clone needs something stronger. Ryncol, maybe?

Kahn practically spits out his words. “Turn on a vidscreen. When I sell a gun, I don’t want it showing up on the nightly news.”

The Clone does her best to keep her pleading out of her voice as she tries to reason with him. “It won’t be linked to me--”

Kahn interrupts her. “Save it. Our association is terminated.” Before the Clone can threaten him, he continues, “And if you even think of coming after me, I’ve got info on you ready for primetime. So you ponder that. Kahn _out_.”

What the hell is he talking about? There’s no way he has any intel on the Clone. As far as the C-Sec knows, she doesn’t exist. But Brooks...

“That went well.” One of the snipers across the shuttle from her snorts.

The Clone looks up at her, and the sniper immediately stiffens. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t, ma’am.”

“Your _name_ , sniper.”

“Susan Bell, ma’am.”

“Well, Miss Bell. None of us are interested in your commentary. Clean your gun or twiddle your thumbs. I don’t care what you do as long as you shut your _mouth_. Are we clear?”

Bell nods silently, pulling out her rifle. The Clone checks their ETA for the umpteenth time in the past half hour. She also checks on Brook’s location. From the look of things, Joker is taking her throughout the Citadel. Fuck. He must be looking for reinforcements. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

 

* * *

 

They arrive at the Archives, just as the staff are heading home for the night. The Clone has the pilot land the shuttle out of site while they wait for the last person to leave. It’s then that her omni-tool lights up with a _PING!_ She opens it up, recognizing the caller-ID, and answers with her voice-disguiser.

“Elijah. Come crawling back?”

It’s not Kahn on the other side. It’s Brooks, Major Kaidan Alenko, and Shepard. “Guess again.” Peachy. Kahn, at least, is resting permanently in his chair with is head rolled to the side. Small victory.

Something about seeing Shepard there, still in one piece, and still ahead for some stupid fucking reason—is she _made_ of luck?--really sets the Clone off. She doesn’t deserve all the breaks she gets. Shepard doesn’t deserve to be the galaxy’s favorite hero. She certainly doesn’t deserve her friends. “You! I see you’ve recovered from flopping on the floor like a fish.”

“You’ll need to do better than that. The last guy who trash talked me was a couple kilometers taller than you.”

Shepard does have a point. The Clone has to remind herself that she’s already won. She already has the Spectre Access Codes. All she has to do is take out Shepard. If some mindless alien drones can do it with a particle beam, the Clone can do it with a gun. “Brave. I thought as much. But it won’t matter. You have nothing. All you can do is wait for the hammer to fall.”

“Why do this? What did I do to you?”

_Because you don’t deserve the life the universe gave you._ “I’m gonna take everything you have and everything you are.” The Clone cuts off the call. Brooks already knows what to do. They only have to wait for the hammer to fall.

* * *

 

 The Clone waits in the shadows of the lobby balcony for her chance to strike. She knows from the com signal that Brooks is in the same room, but the Clone can’t risk revealing herself to search for her. Meanwhile her implants rattle off alerts and tactical advice, most of which align with nuking the Archives from orbit, and everyone inside. Of course, they would guide the Clone to the exits first, but that’s beside the point.

“Brooks, you okay?” Shepard calls out over the sound of gunfire and grenades. The Clone freezes at the mention of her name, listening for Brook’s reply.

“Upstairs!” Brooks yells back. The Clone sags with relief. “Scattering and taking cover!”

She waits until she sees Brooks at the periphery of her vision, then she signals for her to come closer. As soon as she’s within reach, the Clone kisses the operative full on the lips, only parting when she’s run out of air. “About time your lazy ass showed up.” She whispers against her mouth.

“Me? I’m the one doing all your dirty work.” Maya smirks back at her. “Ready for your debut?”

“I was born ready.” The Clone spins Brooks around, pressing the barrel of her pistol into her partner’s temple. She shoves both of them towards the edge of the balcony. Showtime.

 


	22. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jane Shepard and her Clone finally meet for the first time.

“ENOUGH.” The Clone tilts her chin upwards, bouncing her voice off the ceiling for maximum effect. “Drop your weapons or this won’t end well for her.” It’s poetic really--she’s gone from the one rescuing the hostage to the person taking one. She’s never felt more powerful.

Brooks snarls as she pretends to struggle. “You bitch.” The Clone squeezes her reassuringly. It’s been far too long since she got to hold her.

“Alright.” Shepard lays down her shotgun, and her lackeys follow. The Clone tosses Maya to the floor, maybe less gently than she should. She has to be convincing. Maya knows that. Hopefully.

“Whatever you think you’re getting away with--There’s nowhere you can run, nowhere you can hide where we won’t find you.”

“Hide? Why?” This is too fun. The Clone steps into the light, watching as the jaws of Shepard and her followers fall right open. “I’m Commander Shepard, I never hide.”

It’s the Krogan who speaks up first. “Huh? So that’s how it’s gonna be.”

The Clone jumps to the floor. She feels the impact from her knees to her jaw. It would probably break a lesser person--but it's worth catching Shepard off guard again. Anything to give her clone an advantage.

Shepard, apparently, still can’t put her composure together. “Who are you?” Some hard-nose commander she is.

“You weren’t the only Shepard Cerberus brought back to life.” Wait. How is Shepard taller than her? Is it her boots? “But at least one of us will finally do something with it.” Or did Cerberus fuck up that bad when they cloned her?

“Where did you come from?” Shepard’s within stabbing range--the Clone’s implants are quite clear. But she knows better than to kill the Commander on the spot. Not when her and Maya are surrounded by Shepard’s so-called friends. Not when her hands sweat just thinking of another lifeless body falling to the ground.

“The same DNA as you.”

“A clone.” Huh. Some Krogans have brains after all. Who knew.

“Cerberus spared no expense resurrecting you. With me--I was created for spare parts. In case you needed another arm, or a heart, or a lung.”

“Where have you been this whole time?”

“In a coma. Until I woke up six months ago. While you were in a jail cell on earth, I was learning to be human.” Bring up Shepard’s failures. Turn her own weaknesses into strengths. “ _Amazing_ what a person can do with enough neural implants.” Mostly, the implants drive the Clone crazy, but Shepard doesn’t need to know that.

Shepard gives her that goddamn _earnestness_ that saves her ass nearly every time. “If you’re really me, then we’re on the same team.” As if it would work on her.

The Clone snaps back. “We’re not even in the same league.”

“Did the Illusive Man send you?”

“No. He abandoned me when he had what he wanted. You.” She’s so goddamn sick of living in Shepard’s shadow. Just a little longer, and the Clone will be free.

“So what’s your point in trying to kill us?” Major Kaidan Alenko, second human spectre, goddamn Alliance poster boy, glares at her.

The Clone stares at him, wondering what Shepard sees in him, what would make her risk her career over of some broken regs. “Because I don’t have her memories. I’d never fool my supposed friends. The ones who abandoned their duty to join the Cult of Shepard.” She quirks her head, eyeing him from head to toe. Maybe he is attractive, in a conventional way. Jane Shepard must prefer the boring types. “Like you Major Alenko. I would’ve picked the other one on Virmire. Ashley something?” The Clone forgets her name on purpose.

“You’re just a pale imitation of the real thing.” And her ploy works like a clock.

“I’m the real thing perfected. I’m you without the wear and tear, Shepard. The doubts the failures. I’m the lone wolf you were always meant to be. Without the emotional baggage holding me back.”

“No one will ever believe you're Shepard.”

“They will when I’m flying her ship.” Or so the Clone hopes. She can’t allow herself to think that far ahead.

Shepard pulls out her omni tool, raising her voice.“This is Shepard! Initiate Normandy lockdown. Transmitting command codes now.” It’s all too obvious, hearing her in person--Shepard’s voice isn’t as deep as hers.

The Clone does the same, especially thankful for her hacking skills in this moment. “Good idea. Too bad the signal was blocked.” She speaks again, with higher pitch. “Traynor. This is Shepard. Prep the Normandy for emergency departure. We’re leaving. I’m sending the command codes now.”

Traynor’s voice carries over the lobby from the com’s speaker. “Acknowledged. We’ll get under way.”

Shepard snarls at her. _Snarls_. Who’s all virtuous and heroic now? “It’ll be a cold day in hell before someone steals my ship.”

“It’s not stealing if I’m you.” The Clone turns to her army. “Execute them. The Cult of Shepard ends today.” If all goes well, she won’t even have to lift a finger. She hears the Citadel sculpture explode just as the door closes behind her.


	23. To Kill A Legend

The Clone has her omni-tool scan for the biometric database, but with an archive serving entire Council Space is too huge to scan in a few hours, let alone minutes. So she goes on foot, heading to the deepest levels, with Shepard and her team on her heels. She lets Cat6 handle them. It doesn’t matter how many of her mercs fall as long as she doesn’t have to kill anyone today.

Sometimes the Clone stops at a terminal to see if the Council computers will find the information faster than she can.  Liara’s drone finds her just as she’s started the hacking protocol.

“The other Shepard--Commander Shepard--asked me to come find you.”

Of all the things that happened today, this is the least absurd, so the Clone humors it. “Let me guess. So she and her “friends” can come and kill me.” She doesn’t bother looking up from the terminal screen.

“She did not specify.”

“Well, drone, I wish to be left alone. So leave me alone.”

“As you wish.” And it slinks away, just like that.

If only all her battles were so easy.

 

* * *

 

Of course, the drone returns later, and the Clone gives it a threat to deliver to Shepard. Anything to get it off her back. She needs more time. The Clone always needs more time. It’s only when she hears Brooks yelling about being shot on the com that she changes direction.

To her credit, Brooks is still lying prone on the floor when the Clone finds her. She’s holding her side as if covering a wound, but when the Clone kneels beside her, Maya’s hand pulls away to reveal untouched armor. Maybe a few scratches from falling on the floor.

“You should have been an actress.” The Clone grins down at her, offering her a hand.

Maya takes it, squeezing her hand as she stands up. “So should you.” She leans closer, almost as if to give her a kiss. “You’ve convinced everyone you’re a cold-blooded killer, a _real_ threat, and yet you haven’t fired a single shot since you got here.”

The Clone gives her a pointed look. “I have more important things to do right now.”

“Of course.” Maya does not look convinced.

“Shepard dies today. I won’t let you down.”

“Oh? Do you have a different plan? Because so far none of yours have worked.”

The Clone glares at her. “They were also your ideas.”

“Doesn’t matter. As long as she’s alive, our plan fails.”

Ah. There it is. “I _do_ happen to have a different plan.” The Clone bumps Maya’s arm with her elbow.  “Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re being cut off!” Brooks calls out, stepping just past the vault.

Shepard doesn’t walk into the trap--she practically charges, Kaidan and Wrex following right behind. The Clone seals them in, breathing a soft sigh of relief. She looks at Brooks pointedly. _See? Not a single shot fired and they’re dead anyway._ Brooks, still in character, says nothing.

“This can’t be good.” The way Kaidan backs into Shepard is almost comical.

Shepard can’t see her standing in the shadows, so she calls out to Maya. “Brooks! The vault sealed us in.”

“Is there an override?” Wrex barely fits inside the vault at his height.

Kaidan looks, seeing them surrounded on all sides by the stasis field. “Not seeing one.”

Shepard’s voice rises, through the Clone can tell she’s trying to remain calm. “Cortez! Brooks! Do you read me? Is anyone on this frequency?” It’s strange to see her so...human? The Clone isn’t sure how she feels about this. _Here goes nothing._

The Clone steps back into the light. “The short answer is no. They’re not.” Shepard’s coms haven’t been blocked, per say, but they have been rerouted to a new channel. Easy to hide when she’s not actively using them. Shepard shoots the barrier, and her shots are vaporized by the field. “The longer answer involves your friends trapped in iridium vaults and forgotten for, well, forever.”

Shepard reels on her, and would probably punch her sky-high given the chance. “Others know about this. About you. The Alliance will stop you.” The Cone’s blood flashes hot, then cold.

“What do you think, Staff Analyst Brooks?” The Clone looks behind her, winking where Shepard and the others can’t see.  “Will the Alliance stop us?"

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t actually work for them.” Brooks steps up beside her, and she’s a sight to behold. That blue armor suits her, especially when she’s not pretending. At least, the Clone _thinks_ she’s not pretending.

“Who the hell are you!?” Shepard shouts at Brooks, practically pulling out her hair. All their efforts to rattle her are finally working. The Clone should be pleased, and yet…. “And do you really think I won’t track you down?”

“My name doesn’t matter. I never keep the same one for more than a few days. And if the Illusive Man hasn’t found me yet, you never will.”

“You’re Cerberus!?” Shepard’s eyes widen, and her mouth drops open. Oh, right. She always did hate Cerberus, didn’t she?

“Was. Mr. Illusive and I didn’t see eye to eye. He’s indoctrinated. Whereas I prefer the whispers in my head to be my own.”

“Why not come to me?” She looks...hurt? Why? “We could have worked together.” The Clone can’t ever imagine that happening. Not in this lifetime.

“In a way we did. I’m the one who put together all the dossiers on your suicide mission.”

“The Collector base!?”

“There was the Salarian doctor. The Asari justicar. The Drell. They were all mistakes. We were a pro-human group who started looking to aliens for help. So I bided my time, and when I found another you who agreed,  I woke her up.” The Clone doesn’t argue, and does her best to shove Dreya, Tandros, and her classmates to the dark corners of her brain.

“What was the point of it all?”

“All we wanted was your Spectre code. But then you survived the hit.” Maya retells their story from their point of view.  Shepard and her friends listen, shock and disgust on their faces. “And here we are, forced to contain the situation.”

Shepard hardens, finally. “Fair warning. No one who’s betrayed us has ever survived.”

“And yet they keep trying.” Wrex sighs.

“You two may think you're clever. And you were, just a bit. But clever doesn't beat a bullet. And yeah, maybe I am trapped in here, but don’t get comfortable. Because that bullseye on your back is getting bigger by the second.” Cute. Words won’t free her.

“That sounds _very_ dramatic.  And if someone, like, say Commander Shepard made the threat, I’d be worried.” Maya eyes the Clone, and she shivers under her gaze. “But you’re not Shepard, not anymore.”

“You had Miranda, I have her. Mine has more bite.” In more ways than one.

“It was fun while it lasted.” Maya sighs, and the Clone walks over to the nearest terminal. It’s the one she’d been searching for this entire time. Perfect that an empty vault stands next to it. Perfect that she doesn’t have kill Shepard directly. No blood. No guilt, right?

“What are you doing?”

“Setting things right.” The Clone pulls up the recording. “Remember this?” She hits play.

_“You’re the first human Spectre, Commander. This is a great accomplishment for you and your entire species.”_

“Except somewhere along the way, You forgot about your entire species. You saved more alien lives than you have human.” The words sound strange coming out of her mouth, but she can feel Maya watching her. She has to convince Maya. She has to convince herself. The way Shepard’s crew looks at their commander--

“I don’t care what species they are. Every life counts. But maybe a clone wouldn't understand that.”

_Aww, she’s trying to push my buttons._ The Clone chuckles “You know the one thing they can’t duplicate? Our handprint. Life gives it its shape, not DNA--which is a problem.” She looks down, raising her voice.  “Computer: Update Council records. Subject, Jane Shepard. Human Spectre.”

“Accessing record….Please input new data.” The interface presents her a circle, and the Clone holds her breath as she presses her hand against it. “Biometric identifier updated. Good day, Commander Shepard.” The room spins as she turns back to Shepard--the former Shepard.

“Now if you'll excuse me, the Normandy needs its captain.” She smirks, making eye contact with the woman who used to have her name. “So uh... _I should go_.”

Her victim reels as if she’s just been slapped in the face. Maybe she has.

Maya turns after her. “Farewell, Commander. I guess this is where legends go to die.” The vault seals itself behind them, and Maya pulls the Clone into a kiss. “Good work.” She bites her lip, and the way her gaze travels up and down her body makes something hot coil in her belly. “Now, let’s go get you settled into your cabin, Commander Shepard."  



	24. The Fall

Falling from the Normandy, the Clone feels weightless, the Citadel surface rushing to meet her, the endless blaring of her implants, and the pain in her ears. It takes her longer to meet the ground than she expects. Her chest aches--heavier than the rest of her body. Maybe it’s the air resistance, maybe it’s the disappointment in Maya’s face as she walked away. Finally, _finally_ , the Clone sees clearly, for the first time. She only wishes she had seen it sooner.

 

* * *

 

“I know you’re not Shepard.” The voice calls from seemingly everywhere and nowhere at once.

The Clone freezes just past the airlock. She spins around, just in time to see the door’s green light turn red. “The hell--?”

Maya rolls her eyes. “Somehow the Alliance kept Cerberus’s old A.I.”

“Not for long.” The Clone slams the elevator open, heading for the A.I. Core. Strangely, it doesn’t try to stop her.

“You know you can’t shut me off without shutting down the Normandy.”

The Clone walks through the medical bay, ignoring the A.I. until she’s standing in front of its mainframe. “I won’t have to.” She opens her omni-tool, bypassing the security system, creating a feedback loop.

“Commander, what are you doing?” The petite, ebony-skinned woman eyes her from the bulkhead, just past the door. Who the hell is this?

“Just who do you think you are?” The Clone rears on her and is about to push her against the wall when she sees the woman’s gaze drop to her chest. Aha.

“Ma’am...as the Normandy’s Com Specialist, I really don’t think it’s a good idea to--”

“Are you questioning my command, Com Specialist?” She narrows her eyes, leaning so close she can almost kiss her.

The Com Specialist reddens, and her breathing quickens. “N-no, not at all.” This is all too easy.

The Clone eyes her lips slowly, making sure she notices. She turns her head, leaning to whisper in her ear. “I see you eyeing me like a piece of meat.” Jerking back, she snarls. “Get off my ship.”

“Sorry?”

“Dishonorable discharge.” The Clone practically spits, watching as the other woman’s eyes widen. “Conduct unbecoming. Now go before I throw you off _myself_.”

 

* * *

 

The A.I. wasn’t the only one to see through her. All the night’s practicing Shepard’s tone and cadence. All the mornings spent mimicking her gait and her gestures. All the afternoons memorizing Shepard’s story. All of it and she’s still just a fucking _copy_. A mistake. Maya knew better, even as the operative tried to convince herself otherwise.

 

* * *

 

Maya presses the Clone against the bulkhead, also pressing her lips against hers. The Clone kisses back, but her mind keeps wandering. This cabin doesn’t feel like their room back on Pragia. Even as she slides a hand down Maya’s chest, her partner notices her tension.

“What is it now?” Maya groans, tightening her grip.

The Clone pulls back. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Maya frowns. “What doesn’t?”

The Clone gestures around, shaking her head. “ _This--room._ It doesn’t feel like it’s mine. Even now.”

“Then _make_ it yours.” Brooks practically snarls as she marches over to Shep--the dead woman’s desk, sweeping all her mugs and books into the trash can beneath. The Clone jumps at the noise. Then Brooks moves to the hamster cage and raises her hand.

“Wait!”

“ _What?_ ” Brooks snaps. Maybe it’s her time under cover. Maybe it’s the strain of constantly changing their plans--The Clone hasn’t seen Maya this angry since they left Hayeiana.

The Clone steps between her and the hamster. “I’ll take care of it.”  Brooks looks like she’s about ready to throw _her_ into the trash--so she raises her voice and stands up straighter. “ _You_ clear out that display case.”

While Maya is busy, the Clone escorts the hamster and its cage to the CIC herself, setting gently it on top of the trash bin. She appropriates one of the former Commander’s datapads and writes a note.

_Please send this to an animal shelter for proper disposal as a warship is not an appropriate place for a pet._

 

* * *

 

And how exactly is a six-month year old clone supposed to compete with a legend? She didn’t grow up on the streets of Vancouver. She didn’t lose her entire squad to thresher maws on Akuze. She certainly didn’t save the galaxy from an indoctrinated Spectre and his army of Geth heretics. She never died.

What was it like? Dying? How long did Jane Shepard suffocate above Alchera before her heart and mind finally quit? Did time stretch out for her like it’s stretching for her Clone? Did the pain even register after two years spent in nothing?

 

* * *

 

The Normandy takes off, and not a moment too soon. With that com specialist running loose, it’s only a matter of time before the Alliance finds them out. Hopefully, with Earth saved, they won’t care who exactly is flying the Normandy anymore.

Stopping in front of the flight map, the Clone rests her hands on the rails. Maya stops next to her, folding her arms expectantly. Where to now? She’s about to set the coordinates for Earth when yet another person interrupts her.

“Ma’am, just before takeoff, Normandy registered a perimeter access alert. One of the security hatches.”

_Damnit._ “Her.” Why won’t she stay dead? “Where?”

“Unknown. When we shut down the A.I. we disabled a lot of security systems. Shepard could be anywhere on the ship.”

The Clone spins around, jabbing a finger into the merc’s chest. “ _Shepard_ is standing right in front of you. Are we clear?”

Maya hops down from the nav panel, a daring smile on her face. “It’s better this way. Wouldn’t you rather take her down yourself?” She eyes her as she passes by, as if to say. _Deliver on what you promised me._

“Armory. Find her! Slow her down.” She moves to the elevator, first to the cabin to grab some unused armor, and then to the shuttle bay to plan her next trap.

 

* * *

 

Did it hurt coming back? Is Shepard even the same person after death and resurrection? The Clone supposes it doesn’t matter. Nobody’s going to spend a single credit bringing _her_ back. Not when they can just make another clone.

 

* * *

 

The elevator opens, and the Clone hears three pairs of footsteps. Her implants label them as belonging to a pair of humans and a krogan. Shepard’s nothing if predictable.

Stepping out from behind a stack of crates the Clone meets the original for the third time.

“Well, that’s creepy.” Shepard raises her gun, narrows her eyes, and fires.

Diving behind a different stack, the Clone fires back. “You want to stop shooting up my ship?

“It’s not _your_ ship.” Shepard snaps.

“It _will_ be. I’ve taken your name, your Spectre rank, even your fingerprints.”

“And then you left me to die. Only I didn’t. “ Shepard closes in. “You think fake fingerprints are going to fool the Council? Or Hacket??” The Clone sneaks around the other side, looking to stab her in the back. “How’s that big plan looking now?”

The Clone strikes. Shepard catches her in a bind just before her blade can make contact. Damnit. Commando training didn’t cover swordplay. Apparently, neither did N7. They push at each other, each throwing in their equal strength into the bind, only to stumble backward when their blades protest.

Brooks provides cover while the Clone distances herself from Shepard. “Hatchett squad to the shuttle bay.”

 

* * *

 

Did Shepard _want_ to live when she was dying over Alchera? If she was given the choice--the Clone knows absolutely that Cerberus did _not_ offer Shepard a choice--would Shepard choose to live again? With the way her and Alenko look at each other, maybe she would.

The Clone wonders what it would be like if Maya looked at her like that. The way Dreya would if she had lived long enough.

 

* * *

 

The Clone is starting to run low on medigel. She takes breaks to restore her shields before charging Shepard again. Just when she’s flaring up, the Normandy swerves, knocking her into yet another pile of crates. Landing on the ground, and bracing herself against the stack, she opens her com directly to the pilot. “What the hell is going on up there? Get us _out_ of the nebula and jump to FTL”

“Can’t.” The pilot grumbles in answer.  “A skycar keeps blocking our path.” For fuck’s _sake_.

“Then _shoot it._ ”

The pilot doesn’t answer, and the Normandy ducks and weaves several more times, without jumping.

“Dammit.” The Clone practically shouts.  “Launch the shuttle and blow that thing out of _the_ _sky_!”

 

* * *

 

The Clone knew it was over the moment Maya walked away. Until then, she had always secretly hoped Maya, Rasa, _Hope_ , whoever she was, would change. That somewhere in that polished exterior of hers, she had a heart still beating. Maybe Cerberus replaces the hearts of their operatives with batteries. Though, with the way Leng talked, Rasa never had one.

 

* * *

 

Shepard knocks her to the floor and they roll to the edge. Before the Clone can cant her hips, Shepard socks her in the face twice. The Clone feels those punches all the way down to her shoulders. She sees stars as she kicks Shepard _off._ Everything spins around her--is it her head or is it the _Normandy_?  Maybe it’s both. The Normandy swerves, and they both slip to the edge.

The Clone holds on for dear life. “Look at you. What makes you so damn _special_?” She snarls.  “Why you and not me?”

“Hang on!” Right on cue, Shepard’s squad carefully makes their way to the ramp to pull Shepard back. Wrex holds onto Kaidan’s ankles as he crawls to the edge to take Shepard’s hand.

“We got you!” Kaidan pulls her up, and Wrex pulls them both back into the safety of the shuttle bay.  

Shepard laughs.  “Thanks.”

The Clone looks for Brooks, and she’s standing in the distance, barely visible in the shadows. She shakes her head and turns away. Something inside the Clone breaks--like the explosion of a star. She’s out in space--without any gravity to hold her in.

Wrex says something, but the Clone doesn’t hear it. There’s no sound in a vacuum.

Shepard kneels, smiling at the Clone since the first time they met. “Here. Take my hand.”

There’s no oxygen in a vacuum either. The Clone can barely spit her words out. “And then?”

Shepard gapes at her as she waves her hand. _Take my hand, dumbass--_ she seems to say _._ “And then you live!”

“For what?” And the Clone lets go.

 


	25. Breaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, did you think this was over? ;)

The Clone wakes up in a hospital bed. Wires and IV’s stick out from every visible angle and then some. She looks more like a hanar than a human--if hanar wrapped their dead in bandages. Trying to sit up, she only manages to set off an alarm before she screams in pain. One of her legs is in a sling, and a cast that runs from her thigh to her foot--she won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

“We found you in an office building next to a shattered window.” She looks up to see a blonde man in a C-Sec uniform. “Mind telling us how you got there, Commander Shepard?”

Something about the way he’s sitting next to her, without a pistol or an omni-blade in his hand suggests he doesn’t know her _real_ identity--if she ever had one.

“I fell.” She manages to say. Her throat is as dry as a bunch of rocks

“From where? The _Normandy!?”_

The Clone tries to nod, but that sends pain piercing through her skull. “Y-yeah.”

The officer starts taking notes on his omni-tool. “I heard it was quite the firefight. A _clone!?_ What will the Illusive Man think of next?”

“It wasn’t Cerberus.” She should probably shut her mouth. Then again, she wasn’t supposed to survive that fall, so why bother trying to hide? Maybe if she’s lucky she can get him to shoot her in the head. “It was a separatist group.”

“I see.”

“Hey, Bailey! We got an issue down at the embassy. We need you to take care of it.”

Armando Bailey. One of the heads of C-Sec, or something. Commander? Captain? The Clone does her best to keep her heart rate low.

“Sorry, Shepard. Looks like I gotta go.”

“Don’t worry about it...Bailey.” The Clone shifts, trying to get comfortable. There is no getting comfortable like this. “Any idea how long I’m stuck here?”

“You’ll have to ask the doc. Catch you later, Shepard.”

Right on cue, the doctor catches the door, slipping inside. She’s a petite young woman with short hair and a thick Russian accent. “Good day, Commander Shepard. How are you feeling?”

“Like I picked a fight with a Reaper.”

“Mm. From the reports I’ve heard--it wouldn’t be the first time.” The doctor moves, checking her vitals. She chews her lip, glancing back at the Clone. “You’ve been here unconscious for nearly two days. You have multiple fractures and some internal bleeding, as well as a small concussion.” Fortunately, your spinal cord was not affected.”

“How long until I can check out?”

“You may check out any time you like--as soon as we can transfer you into Dr. Chakwa’s care.” The doctor’s gaze drifts to her right, and it’s then the Clone notices the handcuffs restraining her to the bed. Whoever the doctor is-- _she knows._

“I mean, how long until I recover?” Her heart rate spikes on the monitor.

“With your enhanced body, only a couple days of rest. Your armor protected you quite effectively in your fall.” The doctor makes a few notes on her clipboard. “Anything else I get you, Commander? More pain medicine, perhaps?” She says this with an edge in her voice. A threat.

“I’m starving, actually. Could you put in an order for me?” Looking directly at the doctor, she puts on the least threatening smile she can manage. “I can’t seem to access my omni-tool.” The doctor frowns, and the Clone smiles. She makes a point of ordering something highly specialized and complex, for dietary and religious reasons.

 When the doctor finally leaves, the Clone breathes in and out, counting the seconds until her heart rate slows, and assesses her situation. She’s restrained, implying the hospital staff, or perhaps C-Sec (how much does Bailey know? Is he in on her arrest?) fears her leaving the room on her own. The doctor must have been exaggerating her need for rest, to keep her here long enough for the authorities to arrive--er, return.

Thinking of Brooks makes the Clone hurt in ways her injuries never could. At least her lessons aren’t all completely useless. Without speaking, the Clone rotates her right wrist left, then right, then left two times, activating Brooks’ hacking protocol. The cuff falls off, and she removes the other, biting her lip as her broken ribs protest. She takes out her IV’s next, along with the sensor pads monitoring her pulse and respiration. As the alarms begin to blare, the Clone stuffs disposable gloves into her mouth, and launches herself out of bed. Hopefully no one can hear her muffled scream over the sound of the alarms. No one rushes to her door. The hospital must be understaffed in the wake of the war.

The Clone feels sluggish, drugs probably, and the exhaustion that injuries and not eating for two days will do to a person. She braces herself on the rails of the bed until she can reach the doorknob. At the nurse’s station, she finds an empty wheel chair, and sits down, wheeling herself towards the exit. She nearly leaves, before realizing she’s only wearing a hospital gown. Where would there be an extra set of clothes handy? _Break room_.

There are multiple staff members on break inside, so the Clone pulls the fire alarm. She catches the door as the last one leaves, and she slips inside. In their haste, most of the employees left their personal belongings behind. A few hacked lockers later, the Clone finds some casual clothes in her size, and puts them on. The Clone slides back out and follows the crowd down the hallway, and towards the nearest emergency exit. While the staff and patients wait for the fire time to arrive, the Clone keeps walking.

* * *

 

Here comes the riskiest part--the Clone has no credits to her name (and doesn’t even have a name to tie them to), so she’s stuck using Shepard’s. To get a shuttle fast, she must use Shepard’s Spectre override. Easy--as long as Shepard hasn’t bothered to reinstate her biometric data.

The Clone waves her omni-tool over the terminal, holding her breath. Her implants report few exits, and high security if her plan fails. She feels the gaze of everyone watching her, whether they pay her any attention or not. Every second passes like an hour.

Then the light turns green. The Clone is dizzy with relief. She orders a shuttle as fast as she can.

 _Destination?_ The terminal inquires. It pulls up a map on her omni-tool.

Up until now, the only destination the Clone considered was _off the Citadel_. The terminal needs a more specific answer.

The Clone stares out the window, her mind spinning so fast she can’t do much other than watch the ships arrive and depart. She could go _anywhere_. No one would stop her. No one would argue with her.

With tears forming in her eyes, the Clone chooses her destination.

Within minutes, a small cargo ship with supplies and weapons arrives to pick her up and take her to Earth.

 


	26. Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Nine months later, and this moment is finally here. Before we continue, I just want to thank all of you for making it this far. Special thanks to my regular commenters for cheering me on through the Clone's journey.

_I heard what happened between you and Rasa. Unfortunate, but not surprising. Perhaps I was wrong about you. There’s an opening in Cerberus’s Phantom Initiative. I suggest you take it._

The address is, of course, unlisted, so the Clone can’t send Kai Leng a picture of herself flipping him off. She settles for ignoring his message, instead, reading up on what little news she can find on Earth--then hacking into Alliance communications to find more current information. Her trip to Earth seems to only last seconds. There’s never enough time. Paying the pilot extra to keep his mouth shut, the Clone exits the shuttle and steps foot into Vancouver Intergalactic Spaceport.

* * *

 

The streets of Vancouver look a lot different than the sunny tourism photos in her imprints. Walking aimlessly through the streets, the Clone finds more rubble than she does anything else. She tries to decide where to go next, but her implants keep finding one threat after another. With the sounds of Reapers blaring and the roar of heavy weapons, and the grind of tanks on the street--it’s all she can do to keep walking.

She’s maneuvering past the remains of Gastown--the Steam Clock is the only thing still standing-- when a cold, rotting hand grabs her shoulder and yanks her back. _Husk_. The Clone growls, throwing it over her shoulder and pummeling it into the ground. It’s no longer human, but the Clone can’t make herself stare at its corpse for very long--especially with the other groans drawing closer.

She needs armor. Now.

Fortunately…or unfortunately, the edges of No Man’s Land have plenty of armor sets to choose from. Even though their owners still wear them, they don’t protest when the Clone kneels down. Tearing off one of her sleeves, the Clone covers her mouth and nose, and gets to work. She takes a helmet from a soldier lanced by a banshee, a chest plate from a vanguard shot in the head by a Marauder, and greaves and boots from...well, a sniper who was torn in half. Probably a brute, but the Clone tries not to think about it.

Guns and thermal clips are even easier to find, almost as easy as finding mother-fucking monsters to fight.

The Clone moves almost automatically, taking down one Reaperfied abomination after another. Those resistance fighters don’t say anything if she keeps her gun focused on the enemy. Even the Alliance soldiers don’t question it if she follows orders. No one can be picky in this fight. And how would they know who she resembles with her helmet on? It’s refreshing to be anonymous.

She loses track of time. Eating. Sleeping. Fighting. Time is relative when the world’s dying at the hands of a dispassionate god.

And then it’s over.

The Clone has just wrapped around the neck of a husk--she didn’t have time to fetch more thermal clips--when it suddenly flops in her arms, and nearly pulls her to the ground with it. One by one the Reapers topple over, taking down even more buildings and human lives in their fall. Around her the sounds of guns firing are replaced with cheers. And yet--

Something feels off. The Clone turns around, heading back to the ruins of the city, pulling off her helmet. She listens for something that’s not there. At first the Clone explains it by the quiet of a city no longer at war, but that’s not it. Only when she nearly falls into a sink hole, does she realize what’s missing.

Her implants have stopped working.

The Clone leans against the pillar of some abandoned building, sinking to the rubble at her feet. She isn’t sure what to make of this. Until now, she never imagined what it would be like to be alone with her own thoughts. Is this what it feels like to be human?

No. The Clone has always been human--she knows this now. This? This is what feels like to be free.

When the sun starts to rise over the mountains, so does she, and she walks in the direction of the sun.  

* * *

 

The sun climbs higher in the sky, and the Clone passes building after broken building, reading signs and billboards, even graffiti without registering what they say. Why would she? Most of these advertisements market products which probably don’t exist after the end of the world. Well, maybe the gangs might still be here. Sometimes she touches one, running her fingers down the painted bricks and dusty window panes, reminding herself again and again what it’s like to experience life without the commentary of a neural implant.

There’s one tag that stops the Clone in her tracks. She sweeps her palm over the red paint over and over, back and forth, trying to place why it looks so familiar. The Clone sorts through her memories like she’s flipping through a book, and then it hits her.

She’s looking at the symbol of the Tenth Street Reds. She’s standing in their territory.

Maybe it’s the remains of her training. Maybe it’s in her genes--but the Clone finds herself following the signs deeper and deeper into the rundown streets of Vancouver. A red bandanna here. A car clipping a corner too fast there. Two people speaking softly at an abandoned bus stop, and trading off cash and a small zip lock bag. The Clone follows the woman with the cash at a distance, until she comes up on a house.

This house has two satellite dishes, multiple security cameras, and an electric trip wire gracing the top of its fence.

The Clone waits five minutes and then she marches through the front door.

* * *

 

The Reds greet her with multiple gun barrels pointed at her person. Three men and two women, of various ages and skin colors have draped themselves across the couch, the recliner, and the chairs at the kitchen table. Candlelight flickers across their sour expressions.

“That’s one way to say hello.” The Clone lifts her hands slowly, both terrified and thrilled that she doesn’t immediately know how to resolve the situation.

“I see your gun, bitch. Now put it--” The man on the couch starts to say, before the woman next to him slaps his shoulder.

“Shut up, Ralph. Don’t you see who that is?”

“No--” Ralph starts to say, and then one of the men at the at the table jumps out of his seat.

“Holy shit. It’s her!” He also lowers his gun. The others follow, save for their boss.

The Clone has no idea who the startled man is. Records of Jane Shepard’s time with Reds are nonexistent, aside from brief mentions in profiles and rumors in Extranet tabloids. But she can tell in his soft expression that Shepard mattered to him in one way or another. “Miss me?”

Before the startled man can answer, the boss on the couch interrupts him.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Call me Jane.”

“Jane…?” The boss glances at her, waiting.

Jane smiles, using her biotics to lift his mug off the coffee table, and pulling it into her hand. “Just Jane.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have enjoyed this as much as I have. Jane Doe's story isn't over yet. She's a main character in my other fic, Double the Trouble. You can find it on my profile. (FYI: The smut to plot ratio is a lot more concentrated.)
> 
> When I started this fic, I started it as a writing exercise to give that character more of a back story and more inner workings. I never imagined I would fall so hard for this character, or that this fic would take on a life of its own.


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